


People Are Strange

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Fluff, Genderswap, Homophobic Language, M/M, Suicide, Teenagers, Teenlock, but he comes back. so its okay., i should probably add some warnings here, just a ton of au's, technically a major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school's boring - until Sebastian befriends a psychotic smartass. AU where the boys go to school in America and not-so-AU where Jim's a dumbass. ONE ghost, just to make things interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brothers in Arms

“Touch me again, and I will cut your balls off with a pocketknife.”

Sebastian pivots at the words, spotting their origin; the new boy, surrounded by whom Sebastian tacitly refers to as the Football Mafia.

This is the first time Sebastian has ever heard the boy speak.

Sebastian stifles a laugh. Across the train of vagabond students separating Sebastian from the Mafia, stands a spectacle that no one has yet noticed.

But Sebastian has.

He watches as the new kid, whom Sebastian estimates to be a just below average height and on the scrawny side, continues to idly threaten three varsity football players.

Sebastian silently thanks his past self for skipping out on football in favor of lacrosse – a lot less douche bags to deal with.

“You little midget, you made me fail my fucking test,” the largest of the three spits, advancing and crowding the smaller boy into the corner created by the wall and a row of lockers.

People are starting to take notice, avoiding the scene as if it’s an active volcano.

“I didn’t fucking make you do anything,” the kid responds, not even flinching at the mammoth invading his personal space.

The sea of students has slowed to a trickle, and Sebastian ducks into an empty classroom. He still keeps an eye on what’s happening outside; he’s beginning to like this new kid. He wonders if he can scare them away using pure annoyance, or if –

The answer to his question fills the air, along with the sickening sound of a fist hitting flesh.

Sebastian throws open the door, launching himself out into the hall.  He grabs the ring leader from behind and slams him to the ground. He turns to see the other two groupies throwing punches, obstructing the smaller boy from his view.

“Hey, assholes,” he commands, placing a heavy boot on the chest of the first kid and effectively restraining him.

Halting, the two turn. Sebastian watches as they size him up, holding back a grin as their faces grow pale.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing to my little brother?” he continues. He has no inkling as to where the lie comes from; it just flies straight off his tongue. He can tell from the look of pure trepidation on the boys’ faces that he’d hit the jackpot.

He hears a whimper from beneath him, reminiscent of the cockroach he’d tried to crush earlier.

He lifts his foot, stopping to grab a fistful of an Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt (god, what a tool) before heaving the poor bastard to his feet.

“If you or one of your meatheads ever lay a finger on my brother again, I will pummel you into next week. Capisce?”  The two boys in the back miraculously transform into bobble heads, but the first boy looks mightily pissed.

“Scram!” Sebastian barks. He cackles as the two boys running off, narrowing his eyes at the one who has stayed.  Baring his teeth, he steps forward.

“Come on, Carl,” one of the fleeing boys urges. Finally, Carl turns and skulks away angrily.

As soon as the boys are out of sight, Sebastian dashes over to the corner, looking down at the small and indolent form.

The boy has his legs drawn up to his chest, not quite in fetal position, and an arm thrown over his face. If Sebastian hadn’t witnessed the atrocity that had occurred moments earlier and picked out the dark drops painting the carpet, he would have thought the kid was sleeping.

“You alright, kid?” he asks. He restrains himself from moving the boys arm, quelling the urge to check the damage.

The boy’s head pops up.

“Got any weed?” the smaller boy asks.

“Not on me,” he responds, trying to hide his amusement as the boy rises, straightening his clothes and brushing himself off.

Sebastian retreats, finally assessing the whole sight of the smaller boy.

He’s short, scrawny on the verge of emaciated, with dark beetle eyes. His hair is neatly combed back, a little messy from where his hands were covering his head. A single strand has escaped, curling over his pale face like a comma.

The boy laughs, and Sebastian has to stifle a flinch as it rings across the empty hall.

“I heard that most American teenagers carry around weed, that’s a damn shame,” the boy says. He smiles, and Sebastian swears he can see all thirty-two pearly whites.

“You may wanna get that checked out,” Sebastian says. Before he knows what he’s doing, his hand is running across the boys split lip, wiping away blood. Realizing how fucking creepy he’s suddenly become, he tries to drop his hand nonchalantly. At the lack of mortification from the smaller boy, Sebastian assumes he hasn’t done anything too weird.

In fact, the smile seems a little wider

“And what happened to your accent?” Sebastian asks. When the boy was throwing around insults, Sebastian was sure he hadn’t heard anything off. Now that they are alone, Sebastian’s starting to hear a certain lilt to the boys words.

“Oh, I was just mimicking those arseholes,” the smaller boy replies. “I’m from Dublin.” Sebastian nods, as if it makes a lick of sense. He holds out his hand, watching the smaller boy scramble to his feet. Dark eyes flicker around the room.

“Well, it looks like it’s too late to get to class now.” The boy turns striding off towards the chemistry classrooms.

“Wait, are you skipping?” Sebastian asks, jogging to catch up. He watches a smile grow on the boy’s face as he turns to respond.

“Yeah. Why? Wanna come?” Sebastian pauses. He’s seen the boy during class, and he’d pegged him as the kind that wouldn’t miss a day of school if they had cancer.

“Hell yeah. I’m Sebastian, by the way.”

“That’s great. I’m Jim.”

***

Ten minutes later, the two are finally getting out of the stuffy school building and breathing some fresh air. They’re hiding out in the woods behind their school, avoiding the security guards that patrol the grounds.

Sebastian perches on a fallen log, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. He watches bemusedly as Jim scampers up a tree, breaking out into laughter when he almost loses his footing.

Jim finally settles on a sturdy branch, and decides to swing upside down from it.

“I like you,” a jubilant voice rings out. Sebastian jumps at the close proximity of the upside-down Cheshire grin Jim is sporting.

“That’s a very good choice, my friend,” Sebastian responds, taking another drag. He looks at Jim’s arm, outstretched and expectant, before sizing him up.

“How old are you?” he asks before hesitantly placing the cigarette in between Jim’s finger. Jim inhales before he answers.

“Sixteen,” he says, breathing smoke into Sebastian’s face.

“Fuck, you’re tiny.” Jim giggles, lightly pressing the butt into the expanse of Sebastian’s tanned forearm.

“Ow! You little shit!” Sebastian pulls the cigarette back before angrily dropping it, smoldering the remains with his foot. Jim drops from his perch, somehow managing to land on his feet.

“You’re like a cat,” Sebastian muses. Jim stretches out on the ground in front of him, using his arms as a pillow.

“Why did you tell those pricks that we’re brothers?” Jim asks, looking up at the older boy. Sebastian idly puts a foot on Jim’s chest, smiling at a similar memory from earlier that day.

“I don’t know. It got those guys to stop pummeling you, didn’t it?” Jim wrinkles his nose, a gesture that Sebastian finds strangely endearing. He frowns when he notices the line of bruises blossoming from where fist met flesh. He stands.

“Come on, we’re gonna fix you up,” he says. Jim shrugs it off, maintaining his position.

“Seb, I’m fine, I’ve had worse.” Sebastian grimaces at the nickname, refusing to comment.

“Fuck, no. I’m taking care of you.” Jim finally starts to get up, smiling suggestively.

“Ooh, someone’s overprotective,” Jim coos. Sebastian stifles a groan. _Whatever gets the kid up_ , he reminds himself.

“I have some stuff at my house, I always keep it around for my little sister,” Sebastian says. He starts to walk, hearing Jim’s light footsteps right behind him.

The woodland quickly disappears, and the parking lot comes into view.

It takes him a moment to notice that the following footsteps have stopped.

“Jim?” He turns, trying to pick out the boy. At first, his eyes slide right past Jim’s small form hanging from the branches.

“Jim, you are fucking _weird_.” He walks over to the tree, leaning against it. Jim jumps down, not so gracefully this time, and lands of his ass. Sebastian smiles, offering him a hand.

“But I like you, too. Now stop fucking around so that I can fix your face.”


	2. Hanging out to dry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! BONUS: can you spot the double meanings?

By the time they reach the parking lot, Jim doesn’t want to admit exactly how out of it he is. However, as a fan of going home with strangers, he climbs into the car after Sebastian without hesitation.

It’s some sort of Chevy – dark, sleek, and a boxy hood. When Sebastian turns on the engine, it purrs; the stereo starts blasting some screeching metal song.

Trying not to wince, but failing miserably as his eardrums are shredded, Jim slams he head against the back of the seat.

“Sorry,” Sebastian exclaims, turning the knob to quiet the music, “I forget not everyone likes AC/DC.” Throwing an arm around the back of Jim’s seat, he cranes his neck to look out the rear window and floors it – swiveling out of the parking lot.

Taking them home.

***

The ride is a blur, a path of twists and turns that sparks a faint recognition within Jim.

“I thought you were taking me back to your place?” Jim murmurs as they pull up to an all-too-familiar apartment building. 

Sebastian shoots him a quizzical look as he climbs out the car and slams the door after him.

“This _is_  my place.”

Jim scampers to follow Sebastian’s long strides up the rickety wire stairs and to the second floor.

“But….” He tries. His question dies out as he watches a shiny key ring with a cheap guitar pick chained to it materialize from Sebastian’s pocket, opening the door to the apartment exactly two doors down from his own.

With four floors of apartments, each with its own balcony ledge and bay window, the building is amiable. It has dark brickwork and lacy curtains peeking out of each window; it almost looks like something a real family would live in. Or at least, what Jim suspects a real family would live in.

Yanking the door open, Sebastian struts right past the open sitting room. He enters a dimly lit room at the other end of the hall, leaving Jim still gaping at the close proximity of their homes. He decides that this will make things _a lot_ easier.

Sebastian emerges carrying a bottle of what looks to be hydrogen peroxide and tosses it to Jim. He then opens his freezer and grabs a bag of peas.

“Just keep holding this to your forehead,” he instructs, handing it to Jim, “there’s where you got the worst of your blows.” Jim narrows his eyes, as if he’s been chastised.

“I know what I’m doing, Sebastian, this isn’t the first time I’ve been beat up.” A moment later, the comment sinks in. Has there ever been a time, Sebastian idly wonders, when Jim’s had anyone to stick up for him? He realizes he probably doesn’t want to know the answer.

Jim grabs the bag, pushing it onto his face, and hops to sit on the counter top. Sebastian settles for leaning against the doorframe.

Jim _tries_  not to notice the stretch of skin appearing above the blonde’s hipbone when he crosses his arms, right where his dark green t-shirt rides up just a smidge. He fails.

“Wait, so why’d you think we were going to your place earlier?” Sebastian asks. A sly smile gracing his face, Jim slowly lifts his eyes.

“I live just down the hall.”

“Really? No way.”

“Room 212. Just moved in last week.”

“Sorry, I’m kinda oblivious. My family and I mostly keep to ourselves.”

“No worries. What were you supposed to do, send a fruit basket?” Jim jibes. Sebastian nods.

“Really?” Jim asks incredulously. “Where I come from, we just tell our neighbors who to keep an eye one, and be on our merry way.” Sebastian wonders if that’s why Jim is so goddamn tough; he has had years of fending for himself hammered into his hard drive.

A silence falls over the two - not quite awkward, but not quite familiar.

“So, why America?” Sebastian asks.

“Oh, my da just wanted to get away. You ask a lot of questions,” Jim says, kicking his feet against the cabinet below. “It’s my turn to ask one.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Where’s your pa?” Sebastian shoots a glare at him that could single-handedly melt the polar ice caps and launch planet earth ever deeper into the catastrophe of global warming.

“Wrong question,” he growls. “How’d you even – “

“The only pictures around here of are you and your sister; a single parent must be taking them. The pillows match the drapes, obviously a feminine touch. So, single mother of two.” Giggling as the observations fly off his tongues, Jim obviously takes joy in Sebastian’s sudden flare of rage, and with the bag still pressed against his forehead and bruises blooming down the side of his face, he looks absolutely – adorable. Sebastian shakes his head, refocusing his thoughts. That can’t possibly be right.

He sighs.

“Do you really wanna know?” His collar suddenly feels too tight, and he can’t stop drumming the pads of his fingers against the wall. Jim nods eagerly, and Sebastian hears a rough sound; ice rubbing ice as the bag bobs against Jim’s head.  He inhales deeply.

“He was in the army. When I was five and my sister Aubrey was two, he was on tour in Persia. A month into it, my mom gets a letter saying he’s found some high-class lady to marry, and he’s staying. I haven’t seen him since.” Sebastian avoids the look of wonder on Jim’s face by lowering his gaze to the white linoleum.

“That’s rough,” Jim says. Against all reason, he places a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, giving it an awkward pat before pulling away. Sebastian almost flinches at the unexpected heat blossoming. He manages to control himself, and he feels just a little bit colder at the absence of it.

“Yeah, I’ve realized. You may want to move that to some of the other bruises,” Sebastian says, nodding towards the cold press. Jim tugs on his collar and pulls it down to reveal a fresh line of bruises studded across his clavicle; and array of purples, blues, and yellows stamped across a pale background, a grotesque work of art.

 _He should be hanging in a museum_ , Sebastian thinks. Jim would never sit still long enough, he’d probably crack the glass cage containing him and wreak havoc on the spectators; people like him are never meant to be admired. At least, not in that sense of the word.

The boy is so innocent, so pale, and so fragile; yet he tosses around gruesome threats, hangs out of trees, pries into the personal life of people he’s known for two hours and have saved his sorry ass. Jim is a knot to unravel, a balloon to anchor down, a boy to –

“So, what about your family?” Sebastian asks, derailing his own train of thought. “Is it just you and your parents?”

“It used to be my mum, da, and brother,” Jim retorts cheerily as his eyes glaze over with what Sebastian assumes to be fond memories.

“Your brother’s still in Ireland?” Sebastian can’t imagine the thought of being in a different house than Aubrey, let alone a different continent.

“No, he’s dead.” Sebastian jumps. He looks at Jim, jocund as ever, and all enmity is swept away like a seashell on the lying in the sand during high tide.

“Damn, I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” Jim responds, “seeing as I’m the one who took the safety off the trigger.” Sebastian stares at him blankly, unsure of how to react. He’s saved when Jim bursts out laughing – or at least he thinks he is.

“Bastian, I’m kidding. He forgot his inhaler when we were camping last year. He had an asthma attack while I was taking a piss in the woods.” Sebastian softens a bit, believing that maybe Jim isn’t a stark psychopath.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. He then circles around the counter that Jim is so idly hanging off.

“Whatchya doing?” Jim pipes, swiveling to follow.

“I’m starving, how ‘bout you?” Sebastian, gently pushing Jim’s feet to the side, bends down to pull a pan out of the cabinet.

That little stretch of skin makes another appearance.  Jim’s too focused on the contrast between the dark jeans and the tan skin to respond.

“Jim?” Sebastian repeats, standing.

“Sure. I’m down for anything.”

“Pancakes alright? They’re just about all I know how to make that isn’t microwaveable.” Jim nods idly. Thank god. Sebastian would have probably made a roasted quail if Jim had asked him to.

He turns on the stove, simultaneously dumping the contents of a mix box, oil, and eggbeaters into a bowl. He said he was making pancakes; he didn’t say it wouldn’t be incredibly half-assed. He stirs it all together, rubbing his elbow against Jim’s leg as he grabs the bowl.  He lifts his head and, finding Jim to be gazing at him, almost drops the it.

“Any particular reason why you’re staring at me?” Jim shakes his head, back and forth, making his dark hair sweep across his forehead.

He lets out a breath of air, ladling the soupy mixture onto the sizzling pan before glancing at his watch.

“School’s out in two hours. Want to go back?”

“Sebby, why would I wanna do that?”

“No clue. I’m fine chilling here.” Sebastian stops for a moment – does he really want to be all alone with Jim, in his own home, for one hundred and twenty more minutes? In the span of three hours he’s known this boy, they have: threatened varsity football players, cut class, and pried into the worst parts of each other’s history.

He takes one last look at the boy; he observes pale arms, a split lip, disheveled hair, and an almost evil glare dancing across his features.

Sebastian realizes – yes. More than anything in the world, yes, he does. 


	3. I'm just not a big fan of people

After  a few time-wasting activities, including video games, hitting the park across the street for a game of Frisbee, and hitting up the local supermarket just for the hell of it, Sebastian and Jim end up chilling on the couch watching an episode of _Parks and Rec_.

Watching Jim perform each activity, Sebastian concluded, was increasingly endearing; Jim, despite never having played the game prior, had managed to beat Sebastian at a round of COD, camouflaging himself by hiding in plain sight next to the mannequins and creeping up from behind as Sebastian’s avatar passed.

He had managed to get the Frisbee stuck on the roof of the park’s jungle gym. After much moaning and groaning on Sebastian’s part about how he had won the Frisbee in a tournament, it had sentimental value, it was passed down from his great grandfather, Jim then scampered up a tree to retrieve it and two others from previous games, avoiding a painful collision with the ground.

At the supermarket, Jim had ridden their cart around like a scooter, just barely missing the flower display by the front windows. Sebastian let him roam, calling him back when he went too far, and received a very strange look from a soccer-mom buying microwaved dinners. He offered a sympathetic smile and said, “kids, am I right?” Jim then bought not one, not two, but three cans of Red Bull, smuggling a fourth (where he kept the fourth, Sebastian cannot say.)

Anyways, back to the present.

The door bursts open, and two heads swivel to the source.

“Honey, I’m home,” a voice rings through the room, simultaneously easy-going and soft.

Jim’s thoughts jump to a name Sebastian mentioned earlier, positive it could be no one else.

Aubrey Moran.

Upon sight of the stranger, she relies on her natural instincts; she jumps back, hissing, and bares her teeth.

“Aubrey!” Sebastian calls, catching sight of his fourteen-year-old sister.

“Hey, bro,” she yells back, recovering from her episode. “Hey….not-bro.”

“Aubrey, this is my bud Jim.” Jim turns, sending her a close-lipped smile.

“Lemme guess – I’m not supposed to ask about the bruises?” she quips, passing the couch on the way to a door at the end of the room. Sebastian glances back at Jim – he had forgotten how noticeably beat the boy was. The bruises weren’t even beginning to yellow, and there was a sharp line of bright red across his lip.

Jim frowns at her, and Sebastian fails to suppress his laughter.

The kid looks like she just kicked his puppy.

“Wanna watch a movie? Mom won’t be home ‘till late,” Sebastian offers. He’s found himself becoming increasingly worried about his baby sis – between his lacrosse practice and his mother’s work hours, she’s constantly alone. And if she’s constantly alone, she’s one step away from being constantly lonely.

Aubrey shakes her head.

“No, thanks. I think I’d rather avoid you and your bud – no offense; I’m just not a big fan of people. Besides, I wouldn’t want to third wheel.”

Jim smiles as he catches sight of the tips of Sebastian’s ears turning a searing red. He’s starting to like the littlest Moran.

Sebastian is so kind, so amiable to his little sister. Siblings are funny. They can hate each other, they can love each other, but in one way or another, they complete each other. Even if they’re polar opposites, they have similarities. This was the case for Jim and Richard; where Jim was manipulative and dark, Richard was sweet and shy. Yet they still shared a taste for violence, and had dark senses of humor. They can be practically the same person, and just not get along.

Jim knows what it’s like to have a brother that is your light, your sky, your world. Aubrey, Jim can see, is lucky enough to have one.

Jim also knows what it’s like to lose him. And he never wants to see Aubrey lose hers.

“I insist,” Jim offers. “I’ll let you pick the movie.”

Reluctantly, Aubrey makes her way back to the living room. Seeing as Sebastian and Jim are mushed together on the couch (god, how much skin contact can two teenagers have before they admit physical attraction?), she spreads out along the floor in front of them. She grabs the remote, flipping through the movie channels.

“Alright,” she says, plopping one elbow onto a pillow, “do you want to watch _Se7en_ , or _High School Musical 2_?”

“Ugh, I’ve seen _Se7en_  way too many times,” Jim says, wrinkling his nose. Sebastian doesn’t even bother voicing his opinion; he’s flexible. He’d rather please Aubrey and Jim than act selfishly. “What’s the other one about?” Aubrey gapes at him.

“You’ve never seen _High School Musical_?” she demands, bewildered.

“No. I’m not from this country, remember? I’ve been in America for, like, two weeks.”

“You have to watch it. It’s life-changing.”

***

When the credits roll, Aubrey swears she sees her older brother wipe a tear from his eye.

“That’s it?” Jim asks, leaping up. “No. we have to see the others.”

“Sorry, dude, that’s all we got,” Aubrey sighs.

“Well, pull up a shady internet website, download them illegally, do something! I have to see the sequel!” Aubrey chuckles.

“You’re definitely hooked. And don’t worry, I’ve seen the third one; you’re not missing out on much.”

As Jim and Aubrey continue their banter, Sebastian thinks about how surprisingly amazing Jim is. It takes a lot to please his little sister, and not a lot of people try. Sebastian is well aware that, under very specific circumstances, Aubrey shines like the sun. But the Aubrey he sees around everyone else is so very different from his Aubrey, he often wonders if it’s just someone wearing a mask.

_Is someone wearing a mask, pretending to be her, or is she wearing a mask, pretending to be someone else?_

 With his father out of the picture and mother working sixty hours a week, Sebastian knows Aubrey must get lonely, even with Sebastian just down the hall.

They get along so well; Sebastian decides that he’s going to be having Jim over much more often.

You know, for Aubrey.

***

After a dinner of some truly magnificent burritos, Sebastian is stuck drying the dishes.

Well, he’s not really stuck with them; he volunteered. But that doesn’t make the task any less tedious. When he hangs up the dishrag, he goes looking for his guest, who disappeared somewhere around the third dish.

Jim finds him first.

Sebastian turns a corner, almost smacking into the dark-haired boy leaning against the wall.

“Jim!”

“I've got to head home. My da will be home soon, he’d probably miss me and drill me about where I was.” His heart plummets, stopping to rest somewhere around his stomach, and Sebastian scratches the back of his head.

Jim knows his da wouldn’t miss him. The dull construction worker would probably yell at the crappy television, not noticing the silence. And the most he would do is tell Jim to eat at wherever the hell he was if he’s going to be home this goddamn late, if he even noticed Jim’s late entrance.

“Alright,” he says, “want me to walk you home or something?” The two boys start gravitating towards the front door.

“What do you think I’ll get mugged on my sinuous journey?” Jim sneers.

“Well, not really. But if you did, I’d protect you.”

 _Oops_.

 The words leapt from his mouth like insidious lemmings, one following another, before he could swallow them back. But Sebastian continues to hold Jim’s stare, intent on not showing cowardice by looking away.

A smile slowly starts to creep across Jim’s face.

“What does that make you, my bodyguard?” Jim inquires.

Sebastian shrugs. Alright, Jim’s not totally freaking out on him. This is a good sign.

“If that’s what it takes. Want a lift to school tomorrow?”

“Sure, as long as I can ditch calculus again.” Jim takes a step out the door. This pulls a small smile from Sebastian. For a small guy, Jim certainly likes to cause his share of mischief. Sebastian doesn’t mind, he’s been on the lookout for what he likes to call a “ditch bitch” for quite some time now, a buddy he can hang out with. Despite his reputation as a dumb jock, Sebastian is highly intelligent, and can get away with skipping most of his classes while turning in the bare minimum of work, still receiving high marks.

Aubrey has known about this for some time, and often calls him a lucky asshole. While her intelligence matches his, she is too straight-laced to do much more than miss the occasional homework assignment.

“You got it. Alright, see you,” Sebastian bids. He watches Jim turn, walk a few paces more, turn again, produce a key of his own, and open the door. Jim catches sight of him, saluting before disappearing inside.

Sebastian supposes it’s strange – he spends eight straight hours with a kid he just saved from getting his guts smeared across the floor, and doesn’t even receive so much as a thank-you. He takes him home, patches him up, cooks for him, and watches movies together with his little sister; suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of him leaving.

He knows they’ll cross paths again in a few short hours; they’ve already made plans for the following morning.

He closes the door, and sighs. He still has some loose ends to tie up before the sun goes down.

***

“Yo, Aubrey,” Sebastian calls, knocking on the door. He breaks out into an infinitesimal smile when he notices the homemade doctor-who Valentine’s Day card scotch-taped to the door. It opens, and a young girl with long brown hair and tortoise-shell glasses pokes her head out.

“Yeah, Bas?” she asks.

“Remember Jim?”

“Of course.”

“Well, if anyone asks, he’s our brother.”

“Sure thing. What if they ask anything else?”

“They’re being nosey, knock their lights out.”

“M’kay.” Aubrey grins. “Any reason?” Sebastian scratches his head, peering in at the pile of books lying haphazardly just inside the doorway.

“People are assholes. That’s why.” Aubrey tilts her head, thinking for a moment, and then nods. In her fourteen years, there are two things that Aubrey has learned.

First of all, don’t panic. Aubrey learned this after she broke her toe in second grade, panicked and tried to run to tell a teacher, and had to wear a cast for the rest of summer. Ever since then, she’s kept her cool in tough situations. Second, she’s realized that the world breaks everyone and after, many are stronger at the broken places.

Jim has been broken, time and time again. Sometimes by himself. And each time, he has become stronger.

And her brother, the fantastic, amazing, brilliant idiot that he is, has decided that for some unfathomable reason, he will not let Jim be broken ever again.

And it is Aubrey’s duty to help.

“Seems legit,” she says. She shifts her weight, standing a bit straighter.  “Any ways, my friend, Anne, has this _gorgeous_  older sister, who’s looking –” Sebastian lifts a hand, lightly smacking her forehead.

“Thanks, Brey, but I’m doing just fine on my own.” Aubrey chuckles, rolling her eyes endearingly and twirling a strand of hair around her finger.  

“Right, bro. Already got enough on your plate with Mr. Let’s-Stare-Lustfully-at-Sebastian-When-He’s-Not-Looking?” She winks.

“What? It’s not even – “

“I got it, bro.” Aubrey snakes her head back inside, closing the door with a thud.

Sebastian skulks away, contemplating why he – oh, never mind. Aubrey’s just pulling his leg, the way little sisters are supposed to. He’s definitely gonna miss the little cutie in two years when he goes off to college, no matter how much of a demon she is.

After all, that’s certainly what makes her interesting. And that’s definitely what makes a certain someone else interesting, too.

Jim and Aubrey, two people turning out to be very important in Sebastian’s life.

They’re both a little strange. Well, more than a little.

People are strange, when you’re a stranger.

And Sebastian certainly is. 

 


	4. Am I suddenly Mr. Sex?

The morning crawled by slower than a three year old on a tricycle. Nothing interesting happened; Sebastian found himself glancing at the clocks hanging above each doorway every four and a half minutes.

By third period, he realized he was waiting for something.

By fourth, he realized he had absolutely no idea for what exactly he was waiting.

But that’s okay; it found him.

The clock stuck 11, and Sebastian slammed the cover of his Shakespeare play shut, racing out of his classroom as the lunch bell rang. He was striding confidently through the hallways, knowing the puny underclassmen would part easily to let him pass, and was outside climbing into his car before most kids had been shaken out of their slumber.

He turns on the engine and does a double take when he sees a scrawny, dark-haired boy already sitting in the passenger seat.

“Fuck!” he exclaims. Jim giggles, giving Sebastian the sappiest puppy dog eyes he can muster. The bruises from yesterday are still pertinent, but less noticeable; they’re beginning to yellow. Sebastian just stares at him. Suddenly, the creepy “I will cut off your balls with a pocketknife” glare had turned warm, soft, and almost –

“Let’s get out of here,” Jim says, drumming his fingers on the dashboard. Sebastian glances at him as he turns on the engine, and he notices that Jim’s particularly antsy today.

“Rough day?” he asks, pulling the car into reverse and narrowly avoiding a collision with a crazed teenager hopped up on red bull and the promise of food.

“What did I tell you about questions, Sebastian?”

“Nothing, you just said I ask a lot of them.”

Sebastian is speeding; he doesn’t like being in a confined vehicle with Jim so close to him. The car lurches to a halt.

They have stopped outside the apartment building; this time, Sebastian trails Jim inside. Sebastian swears he locked the door on his way out that morning, but the knob turns easily in Jim’s hand.

They enter, and Sebastian finds the reason why.

“Marley! Hey, bro!” He greets the mousey 16 year old with a pat on the back. He had forgotten about the lunch meeting he had acquiesced to earlier that week.

“Hey, Sebastian. I had study hall right before lunch, so I left early and let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.” Marley Hooper suddenly looks unsure of himself; despite being only an inch shorter than Sebastian and much taller than Jim, he seems to shrink to child-sized.

“It’s alright, Marl. You practically live here. And I’m surprised you’re not in the lab.” Sebastian knows the truth of the former – the two had been friends ever since Sebastian stepped on his pack of crayons in Kindergarten, breaking all of them, and apologizing profusely when Marley had begun to cry. He made it up by trading him his brownie for a box of raisins – a clearly unfair trade.

“Well, someone else needed to use it, so I thought it’d be best if I gave her some space,” Marley says. He suddenly finds the aglets of his shoelaces endlessly fascinating, refusing to look up.

A look of understanding crosses Sebastian’s face.

“Oh. Who did you say it was?” he asks, trying to hide a smirk. He watches as Marley’s face turns bright crimson.

“Oh, just some girl.”

“Marley! You need to grow a pair, and talk to her!”

“Talk to whom?” Jim pipes. It’s been a while since he said anything, and he figures now would be the perfect time to intervene.

“This chick, Sherlock,” Sebastian says.

“Sebastian!” Marley squeaks, his eyes widening.

“Don’t worry, who’s Jim gonna tell?” Sebastian notices the death glare Jim was shooting at him, and chooses to ignore it in favor of elaborating. “Sherlock’s gorgeous, but she’s a total nutcase.”

“She’s quirky, and intelligent,” Marley sniffles, staring off into the distance. “I like it.” Sebastian crosses the room, going to place a hand on Marley’s wrist.

“Lighten up, Marl. I’m sure once you show her your awkward charm, she’ll warm up to you.”

Sebastian and Marley have known each other for years; any display of affection, even a trite touch, is completely normal. But this time, Sebastian senses an awkward tension filling the air. Keeping one eye on Marley, who seems to be lost in his own thoughts, he slowly turns around to come face to face with Jim.

Never in his life has Sebastian seen such pure animosity, and he finds it to be radiating from the deep pits of Jim’s brown eyes. Sebastian shivers as he realizes it is directed solely at Marley.

“You okay, Jim?” he asks. Jim looks up at him. Sebastian catches his eye again; this time, all he can see is the child-like energy that Jim usually emits. He is starting to question whether it had just been a trick of the light, his imagination, or some other complete cliché.

“Of course, Sebby.”

Sebastian brushes it off; it must have been a freak incident.

A few minutes later, they hit the park across the road for an encore game of Frisbee. They decide to play 500, with Sebastian tossing and Jim and Marley going after the disc like a sky-diver chasing his parachute.

Despite his frankly tiny stature, Jim is fiercely competitive. Marley proves to be a worthy opponent; with his height advantage, he just stands in front of Jim and extends his long arms to pluck the disc out of the air. He had been ahead for the first ten minutes of the game, but Jim has redeemed himself with a few hundred-point catches. The score is 350 to 400 when Sebastian threw a jackpot disc.

“I GOT THIS,” Marley yells as he races over the field. Jim is much stealthier, laying low and gliding over the slick grass. He’s so close, the disc practically in his fingers; he’s reaching, reaching, _reaching_ , when -

THUMP

“JIM!”

_CRACK_

“Oh damn,” Jim breaths. He’s lying on the grass, and he figures he must’ve slipped. He sits up, shaking his head woozily.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asks a very pale Sebastian. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marley inhale sharply. “Am I suddenly Mr. Sex?” Marley lets his breath out very slowly, and hastily makes his way over.

“Jim, your wrist.” Jim looks down. Sure enough, his wrist was bent in a way that no properly functioning wrist should ever be.

“Huh,” he says. He doesn’t even feel it. Marley and Sebastian share a quick glance. “Is it broken?” Jim asks. He receives two glares that explicitly state, “how the hell should I know?” He shrugs.

“I’ll be fine.” Sebastian continues to gape at him.

“We need to set that,” Marley says. Sebastian steps behind Jim, placing his hands right under his armpits, and picks him up. Now, with his injury entirely visible, the three get a good look at it. Marley narrows his eyes, Sebastian looked very close to fainting, and Jim makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat.

The creamy white bone is poking out, and it does not look as though it will re-inter the bloody wound on its own.

***

One hour (and a very annoyed Jim) later, Sebastian is signing a bright green cast. After constructing Jim a makeshift splint out of athletic tape and rolled up newspaper, Marley had then driven the three of them to the ER. But it was Sebastian who sat with Jim, talked to the doctor, and made sure he didn’t pick at the cast. Marley had gone back to class, fretting over missing Forensics, and Sebastian had stayed back with Jim. Of course, Jim can’t go back to school in _this_  state, and someone has to look after him, doesn’t he?

The doctor had said that the wrist would take three weeks to heal before the cast could come off, but Sebastian has a feeling Jim won’t wait that long.

“I’m guessing no more Frisbee?” Sebastian asks as soon as they walk back into his apartment.

“No. Of course we can still play.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. Jim is fulfilling his role as a stubborn, moody teenager perfectly.

“I’m bored,” Jim complains. He puts on a little huffy face, the kind that makes Sebastian want to smack him. And that’s how the two ended up crashing on the couch, watching an episode of _Futurama_.

While Sebastian sits like a normal person, Jim seems to be trying to take up as much room as possible. He leans his back against the armrest, swinging his legs onto Sebastian’s lap. Sebastian doesn’t seem to mind; he has begun to pet them, as if the darkly clad feet are a domestic house cat. It feels…fantastic.

Sebastian laughs at the thought. Maybe if he’s persistent, Aubrey will let him keep him. She’s always had a soft spot for domestic strays.

“So, how’s America? Is it everything you’ve ever wanted and more?”

“Eh, not much better than Ireland. The food’s not as good here, but there is some quality entertainment floating around.”

“…You’re talking about High School Musical, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m talking about High School Musical.”


	5. Fine without you

It’s a small wonder how the two boys transitioned themselves so seamlessly in each other’s lives; of course, living seven yards away does augment their compatibility. Sebastian drives himself, Jim and Aubrey to school each morning. They get each other kicked out of Language arts for drawing dirty stick figures on their desks. They have to sneak out for lunch, both being underage, and share a rush of adrenaline every time the school’s security guard eyes his car. They occasionally come _back_  from lunch. And they’re always outside the high school, regardless, at 3’oclock to pick up the littlest Moran.

This is why, when the clock strikes three, Jim and Aubrey are stationed outside the library. And why when Sebastian doesn’t show, they worry. 3:05, 3:10, 3:15…. Jim keeps checking his phone for messages, missed calls, Egyptian hieroglyphics, anything. Alas, he finds nada. Zilch. Absolutely zero.

Jim strains to remember – which class did Sebastian have last? They have a rotating schedule, something Jim is not yet used to, increasing the difficulty of keeping track of classes. He focuses; he had Calculus last that day (he had slept through most of it), which meant that Sebastian had gym.

“Stay here, Aubrey, in case of his return,” Jim instructs, breaking out into a jog towards the locker rooms.

“What? No way,” Aubrey proclaims, matching her strides to his. “He’s my brother; besides, I’ve been getting him out of trouble way longer than you have.” Jim resists the urge to ask exactly what kind of trouble Sebastian had been getting himself into before he arrived; he files the inquisition away for later.

He reaches the plain wooden door, his hand hovering over the knob.

“Aubrey, you can’t come in here. “ She sends him a glare that puts “bitchface” to shame and yanks it open.

“Hey! Get decent, there’s a chick coming through,” she bellows. After a moment, she’s answered.

“Aubrey? Stay out there, I’m on my way,” a gruff voice calls. They can hear the echoes of another boy snickering bounce around the vestibule, and they practically tumble over each other on the way through the door.

“Sebastian!” The two stagger into the clearing, an area between the rows of lockers and teacher’s office. Jim’s heart stops at the sight that meets them; he looks at Aubrey, proud of the glare she’s giving Carl.

“Get the fuck away from my brother, dickwad,” she spits. Jim realizes that he’s never before heard Aubrey use language stronger than “golly”.

“Yeah, me too,” he adds a beat late. Carl Powers, Jim’s tormentor from earlier and head of the Football Mafia, is standing. Well, he’s standing, and Sebastian is kneeling. Carl has Sebastian’s hands grasped behind his back, and his tattered gym shirt pulled over his head. Jim can already make out the bruises forming on Sebastian’s back where he was kicked, over and over.

Carl grins.

“What’s gonna happen when big brother’s down?” he sneers.

“You get one last chance before I beat your brains out. Let. Him. Go.” Aubrey punctuates each word, like bullets fired from a smoking gun. Carl laughs; a hideous sound that, under the right circumstances, could shatter glass.

Aubrey looks to Jim, and he gives her an imperceptible nod.

“Please,” Jim begs, drawing his face into a sniveling mess and raising his hands in prayer. “He’s my brother, and I need – “Aubrey lunges. She throws a punch, connecting with the larger boy’s solar plexus. Carl let’s out an “oof” but doesn’t release his grip.

Jim takes this opportunity to grab his bag, containing approximately two three-inch binders and a textbook, swinging it over Carl’s head. Not over, into. It collides with a sickening C _RACK_ , a noise that floods Jim with a nauseating sense of Déjà vu.

 Aubrey doesn’t miss the look of pain shooting across Jim’s face as his freshly-set wrist is tested; all she sees is a flash of “PROPERTY OF SEBASTIAN MORAN” go flying through the air. Carl is knocked down, and he makes a second ill-bred attempt to throw a punch. He aims wildly at Aubrey, who’s standing directly in front of him. She ducks at the last second, throwing him off balance.

 Carl sits back up; taking Sebastian’s head, he SMASHES it into the tile, ensuring he won’t get back up. Aubrey steps forward, then to the side, parrying another punch thrown her way. Jim grabs a padlock the size of his palm lying on top of one of the lockers and swings it at Carl’s neck. The older boy makes one last move, an attempt to flatten Aubrey, but fails as she sidesteps and head-butts the side of his ribcage. Gasping for air, he rolls onto his back and jumps to his feet.

Carl looks at Aubrey. He looks at Jim. He looks back to Aubrey, then to Sebastian stirring on the ground. One more glance at Aubrey. He flees from the room, the door slamming behind him.

Neither Aubrey nor Jim makes a move to chase him.

Aubrey drops to her knees, running her hands over her brother’s face. He’s conscious but delirious.

“Sebastian?” she asks. Her voice is delicate, as if she’s afraid of breaking him.

“You had one job, Aubrey. He was twice your size,” Sebastian rolls. His words run into one another on their attempt to evacuate his mouth. “But thanks, lil’ sis. And lil’ bro.” Whatever Jim had felt flourishing in his chest, Sebastian’s words stomp it down.

He brushes away her hand, not wanting to be swaddled.

“I’m going to grab some supplies and laptop out of my locker, you two stay put,” Aubrey says, placing a peck on Sebastian’s forehead before fleeing the room.

“Sebastian, you asshole,” Jim says, kneeling down over the slumped figure and running his hands repeatedly through light hair. Sebastian leans into the touch; it feels absolutely _majestic_. He finds himself apologizing, again and again, as his eyes drift shut.

“You’re my bodyguard, I need you. What do I do if something happens?” Jim demands, moving his hands to Sebastian’s chin. His short fingers drift over a rough jawline, tilting Sebastian’s head up so he can stare into those baby blues.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Jim realizes, _it’s like getting lost in the ocean. And I’m slowly drowning_.

“Jim, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.” Sebastian’s words call him back. “And that’s saying something pretty incredible. You’ll do fine without me.” Looking into Jim’s own bottomless eyes, Sebastian reads something that the boy would never in a million years admit.

_I don’t want to do fine without you._

At this moment, Sebastian realizes a few things.

  1. He doesn’t want to do fine without Jim, either.
  2. The ceiling and the floor just switched
  3. If he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to puke all over Jim’s Sperrys.



So Sebastian does do something. He does the most irrevocably stupid, idiotic, senseless thing that anyone in his situation could ever do.

He leans in for a kiss.

Well, it’s more of a drunken smash of lips against teeth.

Jim is expecting it; maybe not while Sebastian is still dripping with blood, maybe not on the filthy floor of the men’s locker room, maybe not when Aubrey could walk in at any moment. But he is expecting it.

Not much can take Jim by surprise anymore.

He tastes chapped lips, with the musty taste of cigarette smoke. He wrinkles his nose, hoping for Sebastian to notice.

_(He does.)_

Neither boy is prone to doing anything half-assed, gently, or cautiously. Suddenly, Jim’s biting, and his hands are everywhere; wrapped behind Sebastian, pulling him closer; running through his hair, yanking at every strand; making their way under his thin t-shirt, leaving long red marks running down his back.

The way Jim kisses is harsh and unforgiving.

It’s the most perfect sensation Sebastian has ever experienced.

Jim’s panting, his pupils are blown wide, and he purrs into Sebastian’s mouth.

One moment, their lips are molded together and Sebastian is thinking of how nice it would be to stay conjoined incessantly. His mouth is assaulted by cold air in the next.

His eyes fly open just in time to catch the crimson back of Jim’s sweater as he flies out the door.

***

The moment Aubrey finds her brother, she realizes exactly what has happened; he’s panting, has slightly red lips, and his hair is past messy. She takes one look at the crinkles around his eyes, his furrowed brow, and how the light in his pale eyes seems to be caught between extensively augmenting and extinguishing completely.

Aubrey opens her arms and nudges them under her brothers. He slowly tightens his grip, resting his chin on frizzy brown hair.

It becomes a tacit understanding that Aubrey will never pry about the specifics of exactly what occurred that evening. But there are a few words more, left lingering in the air, that need to be voiced.

“I will destroy him,” she whispers, feeling her brother stiffen.

A threat, pure and easy, that she is obstinate to carry out.

Sebastian had opened a window in his heart, one that was slammed shut and locked long after his little sister had weaseled her way in, and all he got in return was a very bad cold.

***

For the first time in two weeks, Sebastian drives home with Aubrey in the passenger seat.

_Had it really only taken Jim two weeks to worm his way into Sebastian’s  heart, tearing it apart and stitching it together again before finally shoving it back in his chest upside down and inside out and facing the wrong way?_

***

Sebastian is in no mood to cook, and if she tried, Aubrey would inadvertently create a new hazardous element only to be used in military warfare. So for dinner, they order a bacon-pineapple pizza from a shop down the street run by an old Italian family. Small, only two dining.

They catch an episode of _Walking Dead_  on the television, a gruesome show that always puts Sebastian into a better mood.  

One makeover later and Sebastian is able to avoid a very awkward confrontation with his mother when she walks through the door.

Of course, Mrs. Scarlette Moran realizes that something’s off. She spots it the same way Aubrey had.

She sees that the soldier within her son is still battling.

But she also knows better than to ask, than to pry, than to meddle. If Sebastian wanted her to know, if it were eminently important, if it were actually any of her business, he would tell her in a heartbeat. He hasn’t. She is confident that he will tell her when he is ready to tell her.

So she doesn’t.

 She pretends to be fooled by his mask.

***

Aubrey does enough worrying for all three of the Morans.

She saw exactly how Sebastian and Jim were both so broken. The two had seemed to heal and compensate for each other’s damage, and they could function better together than either did apart. But now, she’s willing to bet that they are each other’s worst nightmare. Anything either of them could try to do would just create more sharp edges, dripping with blood, between them. 

That night, she holds her brother extra tight before retiring to bed. And she whispers, “Just you wait and see, it’ll work itself out eventually. It always does, ‘Bas.”

***

It’s close to three in the morning, and Sebastian is still caught in purgatory, somewhere between waking life and a land of slumber.

What amazes him is that he actually believed he and Jim to be friends. They had never been friends, not really. In his head, he knows this now. But in his heart – well, his heart has yet to catch on.

He still can’t figure out if the blame of the kiss rests solely on his shoulders, or if deserves to be shared. Oh, that stupid, brash, wonderful kiss. For a moment, just for a blip of time in his relatively short life, his love had been given back to him.

That was all it took to alter everything. Because the type of love that Sebastian had been harboring (whether it had been for weeks, since he first transformed into a knight in shining armor, or just for a moment, when he was a crumpled mess listening  to stuttered words of anger whispered in his ear), his love had been returned. And that was all it took to transform unrequited love into once-requited love.

Sebastian knows that is all it will ever be, once-requited.

And he’s not sure for how long he can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, guys, i decided to take this story in a completely different direction. just a heads up, in the next chapter i lose my shit and the new tags come into play.


	6. A good reason to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it, folks.

_First day after_

He gets up. He drives Aubrey to school. For the first time in a week, he attends all his classes. But he can’t say what exactly happens in any of them.

For lunch, he returns to his flat for a disappointing meal of Reese’s Puffs and a Kudos bar.

He actually goes back to school. _I have no reason to stay,_ he realizes, almost retaining a chuckle. _And no reason to stay is a good reason to go, wouldn't you say? I wonder if this is how Jim felt. No wonder he left_

He doesn’t have gym that day. If he did, he would’ve skipped it. He would have sat in the principal’s office and confessed to putting a shaken-up wasp’s nest in the passenger seat of his least favorite teacher’s car if it meant getting out of gym.

He drives Aubrey home.

Aubrey doesn’t think he says two words that day. The silence clouds around them, leaving a humid trail, but doesn’t suffocate or intrude. It’s a comfortable silence, one that neither of them feels the need to shatter with senseless chitchat. It’s a part of the process.

The loudest sound she hears him make is the shattering of ceramic when he slams a mug, painted with the bright orange and green of the Irish flag, onto the kitchen floor.

_Second day after_

Sebastian goes for a drive. He blasts Led Zeppelin, singing along like a jackass. When _Babe I’m Gonna Leave You_  comes on, he skids to a halt, climbs out of the car, and pelts rocks at a cat lying lazily on the top of a fence by the side of the road.

He laughs, a maniac screeching sound, as it gives a frantic “meOW!” and falls out of sight.

He doesn’t stay out for very long; the streets are uneven.

_Third day after_

Marley flags him down in the hall and insists on treating him to lunch.

They go to a place farther away than usual, but close enough that they have ample time to return before the bell rings. They end up at some Greek diner with leafy murals on the walls and dry gyros.

Marley seems to enjoy his, but Sebastian can’t taste a thing.

Marley supplies the majority of the chitchat, pausing occasionally to ask Sebastian questions that can be answered in three syllables or less. He talks about how he’s finally had a chance to play defense at his lacrosse clinic, how he ended up conversing with Joan Watson while sharing the chemistry lab with Sherlock the other day, and how he saw one of his old teachers at the bagel shop this morning.

Sebastian finally interrupts a particularly painful story of how Marley’s cat curled up in his book bag and was almost taken to school.

“Aubrey said something, didn’t she?”

Marley suddenly looks very uncomfortable, as if the leather booth he’s residing in has spontaneously grown thumbtacks that are sticking into his flesh.

“She didn’t,” Marley says. He speaks quietly, but the words sound loud in Sebastian’s ears. “It’s just that – I saw you two together, how….compatible you two were. Are. How he looked so angry when he thought no one was looking.” Marley pauses. His monologue is studded with breathes, stutters, and awkward pauses. “That animus was directed towards me, for being too close to you. And I saw how you acted when he was hurt, how pale you got, and I knew.” He doesn’t say _what_  exactly he knew, he doesn’t have to. The words are already there.

Sebastian sits silently, looking at his mug of steaming coffee as though it had personally betrayed him, then shrugs.

Marley gives him time, a chance for Sebastian to stop him from continuing. He doesn’t.

Marley goes on.

“I looked at you two, and I knew you were going to be inseparable. And you were, for a short while. But today, yesterday, the day before, I saw you and you were alone. I really saw you – and, it’s like someone’s flicked all the lights off inside your head.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian apologizes, unsure of what else there is to say.

“No. Don’t apologize. That’s the last thing you need to do.” Marley shakes his head violently, and for a moment, Sebastian is sure his wire framed glasses are going to take a sojourn to the floor.

“Then what’s the first thing I need to do?” Sebastian asks. Marley wraps his hand around his own mug, lifting his gaze from the milky surface to meet Sebastian’s.

“I…don’t really know,” he admits. Marley’s never done this before. The biggest problems he’s ever had involve season finales and rushing through books. He slinks down into his seat, and then he straightens his back.

Sebastian is caught off-guard – he constantly forgets his friend’s true height, and how intimidating he can be when he sits up.

“Sebastian, you’re one of my best friends. And I know that I may not be one of yours,” Sebastian starts to protest, but Marley shakes his head, “but I want to see you happy. Or at least, not like this. And maybe you being happy doesn’t involve him. Maybe it’s you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up. Maybe it’s just you, moving on. And to do this, the first step, is forgiving him. Do you understand?”

Sebastian is silent for a moment.

“Did you just quote _He’s Just Not That Into You_?”

“No. Maybe. That’s not the point. Damn it, I’m sorry, Sebastian. I’m just not good at this whole ‘giving advice’ thing,” Marley sighs, dropping his head back down. In that moment, Sebastian watches how quickly a boy can transform from a towering lacrosse player coaching him on life choices to a fragile shell, trying to slow his own breakdown.

“No, it was actually really….relevant,” Sebastian says. He repeats the instructions to himself. _He has to forgive Jim._

 _Forgiveness is a funny thing, it warms the heart and cools the sting_.

He may be sitting in a booth, sipping iced water, but his mind is miles away. _Chasing down a dark-haired boy with a broken wrist._

***

Two states away, a dark-haired boy with a broken wrist is lost.

He’s decided to stop his excursion for a respite in a small-town carnival.

He had fist seen the faded flyers hanging off the back of the seat in front of him on the bus ride, and been entranced by the promise of cotton candy and a Ferris wheel.

It’s a chilly night, so he’s decided to put on his cable-knit sweater, Sperrys, and semtex vest.

He’s out in the open, prowling the now-deserted fairgrounds. He chuckles. _No line for the merry-go-round._  He hears sirens, once in the distance, now just outside his head.

He walks a few steps more, closer to the two children huddling in the corner formed between the funnel cake vendor and entrance to the fun house.

“Not a step closer,” a voice yells, deep and gruff, as if he had just woken. Jim pays no heed, pursuing the pair. The larger child, a girl with long eyelashes sparkling as if they had caught a layer of morning dew, pushes the smaller behind her.

_If he squints, he can almost make out the piercing eyes and dark-haired little sister._

“Kid, I’m not telling you again!” Angry footsteps, closer, closer.

Jim allows himself one small quirk of the lips, a parody of a smile, before a shot rings out.

A sharp pain, explosions ricocheting around his cranium, and he’s jerked forward.

He falls.

He can feel something sticky beginning to coat his hair, and he tries to lift a shaky hand to dip his fingers in the thick liquid. All he can accomplish is a slight twitch.

The life is running out of his body, drip by drip. Jim wonders; was it the police officer that got him? Or was there a marksman, hidden in the clouds? Maybe if they all looked up, they’d see a light-haired sniper with a crooked nose and a lopsided grin duck into the basket of a hot air balloon, a swirly drop of color against the night sky.

Maybe if they looked down, they’d see an unarmed sixteen year old who strapped himself with fake explosives, just wanting to go out with a bang.

He grits his teeth – this pain is nothing. He’s experienced much worse.

When he was in kindergarten, Jim split his skull. God, had that had been painful – shards of brick, pounding into his sensitive grey matter. But Jim was strong; he hadn’t shed a single tear.

That day, Rich hadn’t let him in on a game of cards. Jim, being a hyper-active six-year old even back then, had decided to occupy his time with cartwheels. Straight into the stone fireplace across the room.

Jim’s final thoughts are of how that day, Rich had done enough bawling for the both of them.

If only he could have done enough dying for the both of them, too.

***

The morning after is a Saturday, so Sebastian doesn’t worry about how many times he slams on the snooze button.

Aubrey’s already awake – he can hear her music drifting in from the kitchen.

He shambles out of bed, throws on a t-shirt and brushes his teeth to annihilate his morning breath before joining her. Aubrey greets him over a box of Raisin Bran, a tacit plea for him to make waffles.

He notices a slight wince; he had forgotten about the beating he took – what, only sixteen hours ago? God, it felt like an eternity.

“Morning,” he says, wrapping his arms around his little sister and reaching to turn on the coffee maker. He grabs the morning papers, sifting through them.

 _Sudoku, Sudoku, Sudoku,_  he repeats to himself. Sudoku for him, word jumble for mom, crossword for Aubrey –

It hits him like a moving van.

Two columns, one grainy photo, and a description in place of a proper title. That’s all Jim got. Gets. Will ever have.

_Teenager Stages Elaborate Suicide._

His chest heaves. The room’s too small. There’s not enough oxygen.

He faintly hears a voice, simultaneously soft and easy-going, asking him what’s wrong as he drinks in the words.

_Irish immigrant_

_Threatening_

_fake explosives_

_unarmed_

_headshot_

Aubrey’s there in a nanosecond. A firm hand is placed between his shoulder blades, and he’s reeled back into his kitchen.

Everything sharpens.

“That’s a damn shame,” Sebastian says. The legs of his chair screech as he pushes back from the table, and he runs to the closed door at the other side of the room.

Aubrey listens to the treacherous sounds of retching from behind the closed door.

***

It’s hours later, but the words are still swimming in Sebastian’s head, like blood from a fresh wound.

Aubrey is snuggled up against his side. The television is on, but no one seems to be watching it. Aubrey’s reading, and Sebastian – well, Sebastian’s elsewhere.

“Aubrey, what’s happening to me?” She is used to questions like these, sudden and unprecedented and rarely making sense.

“You’re in purgatory,” she says, placing one finger on the page to keep her place. “You’re here because you have to live never knowing whether or not he would have come back.”

Sebastian is silent.

He’s drowning.

***

Like in most dreams, Jim doesn’t remember waking.

The afterlife is certainly not what he was expecting. The room is small, dimly lit, like a nightclub minus the rancor of patrons. There is a man sitting at a table that could have been ripped out of a breakfast diner, a slab of white plastic with a checkered boarder, surrounded by empty chairs. Clad in a dark suit and tie, Jim can’t help but notice something a little familiar about him. He has a large brow and a smile that reveals no teeth, and his hair is a breathtaking ginger color that flops down onto his overly large forehead.

“So, nirvana isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?” Jim quips, sliding into the seat across from him. The man squints, looking at Jim as though he’s about to condemn him to the fiery pits of hell.

He very well may.

Then, he laughs.

“So, what, you had to dye your hair and change your clothes to live down the shame of being a grunge-rocker, Cobain?” The laugh is cut short, and Kurt narrows his eyes at Jim’s taunt.

“Strange,” Kurt finally says, “people don’t usually make the connection.” He straightens his tie, and a glass tumbler rises from the table. Jim watches as he picks it up, examining the amber-colored liquid inside.

“Actually, this is the real me. I had to change my appearance to suit….human expectations,” Kurt explains, taking a sip.

“So, why here?” Jim asks. A single room – certainly not heaven. No physical or psychological torture – not high school, or hell, either. “Wait, let me guess. I have unfinished business? I get a second chance? Or – I’m an errand boy, aren’t I?” Kurt smiles.

“You’re quick, kid,” he says, taking another sip from the tumbler and pursing his lips at the taste. He lifts up his legs and rests them both on the table, crossed, letting Jim catch sight of fancy Italian loafers.

“Gucci,” Jim drawls, “grey leather lace-ups. An interesting choice to wear with Westwood, wouldn’t you say?” Kurt’s smile fades.

“I knew there was a reason why you’re here,” Kurt mumbles. His eyes brighten, and he continues. “I’d give you the whole, ‘you have to find out for yourself’ bit, but you seem to have it covered. Most people don’t understand the choice, but you certainly do.” His smile grows and his whole face burns hot, like there are embers roasting just beneath his flesh. “I like you, so I’m going to tell you a secret before I let you go.” Jim has to clutch the table top to suppress his laughter.

“I’m not interested,” the boy claims. “Just return me to earth, let me do my thing.” Kurt looks amused; Jim starts to stand.

“I think you’ll be very interested,” Kurt insists, motioning for Jim to sit back down.

Despite the uncomfortable heat rising from just below the floorboards, his next few words make Jim freeze. If he had blood, it’d be running cold. If he had a heart, it would have been caught between doubling its pace and stopping completely.

With a predators smile, Kurt’s next few words drip from his tongue like venom.

“It does, after all, pertain to your dear brother, Richard.”


	7. Soap Opera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being so wonderfully understanding. there is one dream sequence. Kudos to you if you get the song reference.

Hours later, and the two have finished conversing. Jim is rising to leave, this time for good, with a smile on his face.

A pudgy man with droopy cheeks, as if he had spent his entire life storing food is the same fashion as a chipmunk, enters the room. He walks forwards, into what Jim previously thought to be a quotidian shadow that he can now see to be the entrance of a stairwell.

If the man sees either of them, he doesn’t show a hint of alarm.

“Be sure to tell your little friend that there is, in fact, a stairway to heaven,” Kurt says, winking at Jim, “but it can’t be bought.” As a farewell, he snaps his fingers.

Jim’s falling, through pitch black, tumbling and turning head over heels.

He lands on the doorstep of a very familiar apartment.

 

***

Sebastian noticed. The little things tipped him off.

“Hey, Aubrey, did you put an extra place at the table?”

“No, Sebastian, that was your job today.”

 

***

The shop is empty, isles deserted except for one patron. Grabbing a can of ice-tea, Sebastian heads to the front of the shop.

He places it on the counter and fumbles with his wallet, eventually extracting a few dollar bills. He glances up, and a hot blush flashes across his cheeks.

The clerk is unbelievably attractive. There is a splash of freckles across his creamy skin, and Sebastian notices a diamond stud on his left ear. He has gigantic, watery blue eyes that seem to radiate kindness, a welcome contrast to the half-asleep expression worn by most other teenagers. And his smile, his smile was pure and easy, as if it were designed especially for Sebastian’s liking. It is as if the boy’s affections had been narrowed down to the size of a baseball, and Sebastian is the only person ever to receive them.

“That’ll be a dollar fifty,” he says. Sebastian hands him the change, noticing his smile deepen then the two brushed hands. The clerk had fingers that were unusually long in comparison to his palms, reminding Sebastian of spiders.

“Whoa, rad shirt,” the boy says. Sebastian quickly glances down, taking note of the Nirvana album stamped in red across his chest before looking back up and muttering a “thank you.”

He catches the boys gaze once more, noticing his eyes are a bottomless brown, cold and calculating. Sebastian can almost, but not quite, see his reflection.

“What?” He asks. The clerk just said something.

“Have a nice day.” Sebastian nods, eyeing the boy one last time. His eyes are a glassy blue, swirled with grey; it’s like looking into the eye of a hurricane.

He feels a sharp stinging sensation, as though he had taken a polar bear plunge into fifty-degree water, as he remembers the last time he looked into the eye of a hurricane. Said hurricane had then jumped on him, fled, and gotten himself shot four days later.

Sebastian concludes that hurricanes are assholes.

He walks out of the store, retrieving his phone from his pocket. Composing a new message, he starts typing out Aubrey’s name.

_No contacts_

Sebastian frowns. He just texted her two hours ago, telling her he failed his Human Behavior test. She had laughed.

He starts to type out her number.

708-571 -- one contact pops up

_Jim_

Sebastian closes the message. He goes to the phone’s homepage and clicks on the phone book icon. A list of all his contacts, about twenty in total, pops up.

_Jim_

_Jim_

_Jim_

_Jim_

They’re all named Jim.

There’s a _clunk_ as the phone hits the pavement, and a satisfying _crunch_ as it’s crushed by a heavy boot.

 

***

Sebastian is in the hallway, counting his fingers (he has to make sure he has all thirteen of them), when a very attractive redhead passes by.

“So, I hear you like Oceanography?” she asks, not slowing. Sebastian scrambles to his feet, following her down the narrowing school corridor. If he spreads his arms, he can touch both walls and the ceiling simultaneously.

They’re outside, and he throws up a hand, blinded by the sun. It’s pouring down on him like hot sauce. He vaguely wonders if he’ll get a tan.

“What? No, I’m taking forensics,” he insists. But he’s in a bubble, his words bouncing around without an escape. If she hears them, she doesn’t acknowledge them.

They’re in the school parking lot. Sebastian looks for his car, but it’s nowhere to be seen. _Did I remember to turn off the cloak of invisibility_? He questions. He realizes that even if he can find it, he won’t remember how to drive.

The redhead is talking to Jim now, both of them standing in front of a white BMW.

Sebastian is still in his bubble. He floats a little closer; he may be able to hear them.

“Those are some nice dog tags,” the woman says, reaching into Jim’s pocket and removing a handful of chain. Sebastian feels a sear of jealousy; then he remembers that he’s in a dream, Jim is dead, and he was never Sebastian’s to begin with.

“Thanks. But they’re not mine, and I need them back,” Jim says. Sebastian resists the urge to bang his fists on the bubble, to rip it open and demand to speak with dream-Jim.

“Well, who’s are they?” the woman asks, running her fingers over the smooth metal. Sebastian doesn’t hear a response, but suddenly the woman is nodding and saying, “I understand.”

He’s on his knees now, floating just above their heads. The parking lot is beginning to fill with caramel, a creamy gold swirling around their feet, but none of them seem to notice.

The woman smiles and tosses the chain into the air. It hovers just outside the bubble, inches away from Sebastian’s face, and he finally sees what he’s been missing.

Devouring the lightly indented letters, he reads the small metal plate.

_Sebastian A Moran_

 

***

The next evidence of Jim appears the following morning, when Sebastian is going for a run.

It’s a harmonious Sunday morning – late enough that all the early birds are in church, but early enough that the rest of the town is still in a slumber.

The only sounds he hears are the soft, squishy thumping of his sneakers on pavement and the steady beat of Pink Floyd flooding his ears.

Though he appreciates the silence, he does not stop. Never slowing, ever carrying on.

_Will the misty master break me?_

 Something is off; a twig snaps that he hasn’t stepped on, and his footsteps are doubled.

_Will the key unlock my mind?_

He feels someone running a few yards behind him, the warmth they radiate, the steps they take, the steady inhale and exhale of their breath.

_Will the following footsteps catch me?_

Closer now, a few paces behind.

Sebastian knows with an infallible certainty who it is.

_Am I really dying?_

A coldness rockets through him, freezing his limbs and locking his joints. He tumbles forward onto the asphalt, scraping his palms and burning his knees.

In a few moments, he feels two wiry arms tuck themselves under his armpits and haul him back to his feet. Sebastian rubs his hands together, spitting on his palms, and concentrates on the stinging of his knees instead of the warm slosh inside his stomach.

“Thanks a lot, Jim,” he says, mixing both sarcasm and sincerity into his words, before shoving his earphones back in and taking off once again down the long and winding road.

 

***

 _What must it be like_ , Jim thinks, _for the living to encounter the dead_? He watches as Sebastian takes off and follows close behind. But not too close.

Jim decides that he has spent enough time like this. It’s as if he’s starring in a poorly written soap opera, or perhaps Sebastian is.

He’s not going to break the fourth wall.

He is going to drop a fucking a-bomb on it.

 

***

It’s four o’clock; Jim can tell that school’s over. He hears the faint sound of running water from just behind the thick, wooden door.

The moment he enters, he’ll be forced into confrontation.

Jim is not afraid. He is not nervous, uneasy, terrified, or afraid. He has stormed fairgrounds wearing fake explosives, been shot in the head, and dealt with a very powerful Kurt Cobain in the last – Jim actually has no idea how much time has passed. He’s dead; the concept of time stopped applying to him the moment his brains painted the gravel.

Jim grabs the doorknob, expecting the sharp bite of cool metal beneath his fingertips. Instead, his hand passes right through.

He grins.

_This is going to be fun._

 

***

Sebastian scrubs at his hands until the steamy water turns cold. He had found one of Jim’s t-shirts earlier that day, unexpectedly stumbling upon it while doing laundry. He had forgotten – he had lent him a shirt after Jim had spilled spaghetti sauce down the front of his own. Sebastian can’t erase the feeling of helping Jim pull off a warm, sticky, wet shirt.

“Why are your hands so red?” Sebastian jumps at the smooth voice, smacking his left hand against the spigot.

“Fuck,” he groans. His hand has started to bleed. He turns to he turns to grab a towel, and his heart screeches to a halt.

Jim is sitting on his kitchen counter.

 Jim, who watched High School Musical with his and his sister. Jim, who broke his wrist last week ( _a lifetime ago_ ) because he got too fucking competitive during a game of Frisbee.

Jim, who tried to blow up a carnival and gotten himself shot in the head.

_Jim is sitting on his kitchen counter._

Sebastian passes right by him. He grabs a towel hanging off the oven door handle, and saunters on into his bedroom.

He flops down on the floor, lying on his belly and propping himself up with one elbow. He grabs his copy of _American Gods_ , running his finger over the slim piece of velvet ribbon sticking out the bottom and opening to the marked page.

“Ooh, your bedroom,” Jim coos, “I was hoping to see the inside of this under different circumstances.” Jim sprawls lazily across Sebastian’s dark bedspread, lying on his back and gazing at the cheap glow-in-the-dark stars tacked to the pale ceiling.

The room is small, and it looks as though it has been ripped right out of a very dark issue of _Better Homes and Gardens_. Sebastian doesn’t bother turning on the overhead light; his room is already illuminated by the two open windows across from his bed.

He turns a page, feigning ignorance. Jim frowns.

Suddenly, he’s too close. Jim’s peering over Sebastian’s shoulder, squinting to read the tiny words running across the page.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as the Neil Gaiman type,” he says. “Though I suppose it’s fitting, considering how alike you and the protagonist are.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” Sebastian asks, his eyes not leaving the page.

“There’s no place I’d rather be, darling.” Sebastian lifts his eyes, boring holes into the skull of the deceased teenager.

“Let me rephrase that – shouldn’t you be dead?”

“ _Got the wings of heaven on my shoes_ ,” Jim sings, “ _I’m a dancing man, I just can’t lose_.” Sebastian stares at him, the rolls his eyes.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as the Bee Gees type,” he mumbles before turning back to his book.

“Sebastian, wait,” Jim calls. He reaches out a hand, and then shyly retracts it. He jumps back a foot and turns away, making himself look small and vulnerable, like an injured animal. “I don’t know why I’m here, Cobain wouldn’t tell me.” He looks as though he’s about to burst into tears.

“Cobain – Kurt Cobain? What did he - ?” Sebastian muses. He blinks, pulling himself back into reality. He glances at Jim, and decides he prefers his land of idle wondering. But that isn’t where he needs to be right now.

“Never mind. Don’t you fucking dare pull that shit with me,” Sebastian spits. Jim turns to him. He widens his eyes, just a bit, wets his lips, and –

“What stuff, Sebby?” he asks. Sebastian throws a hand accusingly at him.

“That sweet, shy façade you use. Don’t, I just… I prefer the venom.” Jim instantly drops it, returning to his usual asshole self. _He doesn’t mention that he was imitating Richard_.

“Good, Sebastian. I do too.” Not offering a response, Sebastian turns his eyes back to his book, signaling the end of their conversation.

For a few glorious moments, the room falls silent. Sebastian is enthralled in reading his book, and Jim is engrossed in _watching_ Sebastian read his book. If either boy has a problem, neither of them mentions it.

The repose is quickly shattered, however, when Jim decides that over the course of one day (possibly), he’s died, survived a meeting with Kurt Cobain, been to hell and back, and he needs some motherfucking excitement. Or at least, he needs to muddle things up before the day’s over. And _technically_ , isn’t he supposed to be haunting Sebastian?

Jim hovers, floating a foot above him, and floats over to his bedside table. He smiles as he finds that he can turn his hand solid enough to open a drawer, fish through a bunch of crap, and pull out a pen and a pad of soft yellow paper.

He starts scribbling ferociously across the page.

Sebastian decides he doesn’t want to ask. He turns another page, and he is assaulted with a creepy grin and beetle-like eyes.

“Jim, what the fuck are you doing?” Sebastian asks, dragging his book away from where Jim’s stuck his head through the cover and turning on his side, away from the boy.

“Haunting you,” Jim says, hovering over him.

“Well, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” Jim only smiles, and thinks back to his previous conversation with Kurt. At least he wouldn’t have to haunt Sebastian for very long.


	8. Now I’ll do what’s best for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry. i am just going to apologize for everything about this chapter. also for posting it a bit later, but i have a good excuse; i was busy on my other work. as always, thanks for reading :)

“Dancing Darwin, I used to love these things when I was a kid,” Aubrey exclaims, dashing over to the display of remote-control monster trucks. “I used to give my Barbie dolls the sickest rides.”

Sebastian smiles. In his recollection, the dolls would always slip down into the seats, becoming one with the vehicle, and Aubrey would have to cut off chunks of their glorious blonde hair that were caught in the plastic.

“You certainly were innovative,” he mumbles. He crosses the aisle to stand beside her, eyeing the bright red price sticker stamped onto the shelf. A foggy memory passes through his mind, like watching an old-timey movie in a crumpling cinema, of a pudgy little Aubrey invading his room and stealing his Kinex. She had a passion for building, but all his parents ever got her were Polly Pockets; Sebastian caught on and supplied her with toys that were more her taste year after year, until she started asking for books and art supplies instead of dolls and Legos.

He’s submersed in his memories when he notices another figure has materialized beside his little sister.

For a fleeting moment, he fears ( _hopes_ ) it will be Jim, back too soon. He stupidly realizes that it’s one of Aubrey’s friends, just in time to catch the introduction.

“Hey, Natalie. I’m just shopping for my cousin,” Aubrey is saying, gesturing to the display in front of which they were standing. Sebastian and Aubrey had been invited to their cousin’s seventh birthday party, and were assigned to pick out a gift for the boy.

Natalie was, in Sebastian’s opinion, frankly adorable. She was shorter than Aubrey, just bordering on the side of stubby, had round cheeks like a baby and myriad dimples materializing when she grinned that made Sebastian automatically feel at ease in her company.

It didn’t last very long.

A familiar coldness shakes Sebastian’s bones, and his eyes begin to drift. A few paces to the left of Natalie stands a scrawny sixteen year old with shirttails sticking out from under his sweater and a bright green cast.

 _Why is his cast still there?_ Sebastian wonders. _He’s changed the rest of his clothes._ Jim turns to face him.

“Whoa,” he says, running the pads of his fingers along the counter, “look at her fat ass. I bet when she goes swimming, they use her as a floatation device.” Jim’s grin is maniacal, more of a bearing of teeth.

With a neutral expression, Sebastian steps around the two girls, standing in the slim path between them and Jim. He pretends to examine a clear, plastic box containing a brightly colored car.

Jim takes a step closer, knocking a box of Legos off the shelf. Neither of the girls notices; Sebastian stoops to pick it up.

“So, who are you shopping for?” Aubrey inquires. Natalie looks down, examining her bright red Converse sneakers, and rubs one arm.

“For my girlfriend’s little sister. It’s been kinda hard for them since their dad passed.” Aubrey breaks out into a look of sympathy.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Was it suicide?” Jim sneers, cutting off Aubrey. “I would kill myself too, if my daughter was a dyke.” He floats so that his feet are level with Sebastian’s face, knocking down a Barbie doll that looks like a transvestite.

Sebastian snatches it out of the air, hoping neither girl notices him turn a searing red.

“Thanks. But it’s okay,” Natalie continues. “It was cancer. They were expecting it. I can’t imagine what would happen if my own parents died, and I was left to look after Alex.”

“Maybe the grief would help you lose a few pounds,” Jim mocks.

Sebastian risks a glance upwards, and his heart stops.

Jim has reached the top shelf; the store owners, being the whimsical fucks that they are, have placed a pottery dragon the size of a bowling ball next to a pack of Yu-Gi-Oh! cards.

Right over Natalie’s head.

Sebastian has an idea of what Jim is going to knock over next.

His palms start to sweat, and he’s nanoseconds away from lurching forwards to push the girls out of the way, when a voice rings out.

“Jim, fucking stop it.”

Sebastian looks over Natalie’s head to see Aubrey, glaring unmistakably at Jim. He pouts, crossing his arms and skulking away.

Her eyes return to Natalie, and she breaks out a smile.

“And then he didn’t come back,” she finishes.

“Girl, I knew you had some spunk,” Natalie says with a laugh. “Alright, I need to go find my own brother. See ya in geo.” She leaves.

Aubrey lifts her hand, giving a slight wave, and then turns her attention back to the shelves.

Sebastian blinks.

“Aubrey, can you – “

“Yes.”

His eyes press shut, and he rubs a knuckle against the bridge of his nose.

“I want him gone,” Aubrey continues, noticing her brother’s I-am-gonna-cut-him-to-ribbons attitude, “away from you.” Jim scoffs, and she pretends not to notice.

“What?” she asks. “If you have to stay here, stay with me. Just, not my brother, okay?”

“Why would that make it any better, sweet cheeks?” Jim asks, floating her way.

“Because, I’m not the one that – “

“Jim, can I talk to you?” Sebastian cuts her off, afraid of what his sister will say next. He shoots her a glare, and she drops her face into a look of guilt. “Aubrey, you keep looking at Barbie dolls and Kinex.”

He walks off in the opposite direction, his boots making soft squishing noises on the plush carpet, trusting Jim to do as he always does and follow.

***

By the time Sebastian reaches the dirty and unused bathroom, the walls are starting to tremble.

He stoops to check under the stalls and determines that they are, in fact, alone. He spins back around, almost leaping backwards.

Jim has invaded his personal space, floating a few inches off the ground to the two are eye-level.

“Really, Jim?” Sebastian says, finding his mouth wired shut. “I’m not good enough; you had to rope her into this, too?” His arms are crossed, and it is becoming physically painful to restrain himself from reaching out and smacking the grin off Jim’s face. Logically, he knows his hand will probably pass through him, but the urge is there all the same.

He steps forward, closing that last inch of space and narrowing his eyes as Jim giggles at his rage.

“She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, I think she likes it,” he taunts, the words rising off his tongue like wisps of steam. He’s resorted to his American accent, mocking Sebastian’s tongue. “Besides, what are you going to do, Sebby? Kill me?” The last two words are spat. But his monologue is not over. “Somebody already beat you to it. Besides, it’s too late for her; she’s already just as deranged as you.”

Everything around Jim starts to shake. They’re standing close enough that Jim can clearly see the growing fury in Sebastian’s eyes; they’re like two windows into a perfectly illuminated room, where the curtains are never drawn.

“You will leave her alone.” The volume of Sebastian’s voice rises, but his tone stays neutral.

Jim cocks an eyebrow, still grinning.

“’Her,’” Jim repeats, “not ‘us’?” Sebastian inhales sharply, and Jim can feel his warm breath on the tip of his nose. “Besides, I liked how it was, just the three of us.” Jim juts out his bottom lip, a mockery of innocence, before glancing up at Sebastian from under his eyelashes.

“If you liked it so much, Jim, why did you run?” Sebastian can tell that Jim is losing his grip; he’s floating higher, and becoming increasingly transparent.

Jim’s answer is more honest than either of them are expecting.

“Because,” he answers, “it felt like, like I was tethered to you. But I didn’t know whether you were tethered to me, too. When I saw you, bruised and bleeding, I realized that I was in too deep. I was way beyond needing you, and had wandered into the complicated stage of…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. He continues.

“I _need_ you. To ground me, to hold my strings. To smoke cigarettes with me, and to stay with me when I do something stupid, like break my wrist. But it’s not fair, because you don’t need me! And when you kissed me, when I kissed you back, I realized that I was letting my heart rule my head. And I was going to get burned. So I cut the tether, and ran for the hills.” His head is touching the ceiling, and darkness is swirling around his ears. Sebastian is miles away from being afraid.

“You dumbass,” he calls, keeping annoyance out of his voice, “this isn’t about need, is it? This is about you, being afraid, being stupid, and being brash. And guess what, buddy? If you had talked to me, if you had given me the chance to tell you, I would have told you exactly how much I _need_ you, too.”

“No, you don’t,” Jim insists, his voice rising ever higher, “I’ve seen you with Aubrey and Marley and your entire team. I’m just, just some freak that you took pity on for two seconds in the hallway.” Sebastian presses a palm to his hairline, tossing his head back with a groan.

“You complete asshat,” he laughs, lowering his voice. “Is that why you left? You just assumed that you could cut me off, and I’d be perfectly alright?”

“No,” Jim says, “I assumed you’d be better.”

“Bullshit,” Sebastian calls, elongating the word. “If you are as smart as I _know_ you are, I’ve seen your work in AP calc, you would have realized exactly what I…” Now Sebastian’s the one having trouble finishing his sentences. “But this isn’t about me, this isn’t even about you. This is about Aubrey, remember? The girl standing somewhere in a toy isle, shopping for my cousin? My sibling, who’s already been through more than a fifteen year old should?”

This, apparently, is the wrong question. Because whatever pretense of tranquility Jim had been wearing, he drops it like a hand grenade.

“YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO FEELS THE NEEED TO PROTECT SOMEONE?” he rages, “I HAVE A BROTHER, TOO. AND GUESS WHAT? HE’D DEAD. D-E-A-D. BUT I CAN’T GO TO HIM, AND I DON’T KNOW WHY. I DRAGGED AUBREY INTO THIS BECAUSE SHE IS SMART, SHE IS BRIGHT, SHE IS IMMENSELY INTELIGENT, AND I KNOW SHE CAN HELP.” In his fury, he has reverted to using his Irish accent. If he were still alive, Jim would take a breath at this point. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t. “And I have knowledge about my brother that would keep an ordinary person, who had absolutely no relation to him at all, from sleeping. So yes, I’m talking to Aubrey.” Jim is no longer a vessel; he is just a deafening voice from above Sebastian’s head, like the wrath of a vengeful God.

Sebastian’s head begins to pound, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears. His wrist begins to throb, and he swallows back a howl. Passersby may not be able to hear Jim, but they will certainly be able to hear Sebastian. He’s surprised they haven’t noticed the quivering of the walls from Jim’s explosion.

Sebastian drops to his knees, clutching his arm. The lights are swirling, flickering, and the glass of the mirrors is starting to melt.

“You’re right,” he chokes out, coughing onto the floor. “That must be hell, and I have no idea what that would feel like. And I’m sorry. I’m not going to ask you to leave her alone; I’m going to ask you to be gentle. I know she’s not fragile, she’s tough as hell, but she’s still my sister.”

He’s never faced death before, but Sebastian had never imagined that it would involve a furious deceased teenager and a filthy lavatory.

He laughs, suddenly aware of the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

 _Goodbye, mom,_ Sebastian thinks, squeezing his eyes shut, _I’m sorry I didn’t see you more. Good bye, dad, I’m sorry I didn’t know you better. Goodbye, Marley, I’m sorry I never got to see you find a girl. Well, a girl that liked you back. Goodbye, Aubrey, I’m sorry – well, I’m sorry._

He opens his eyes, and though his vision is painfully blurry, he is determined for his final sight to be the face of his killer. He nearly has a heart attack when Jim swoops down, crashing into him and knocking him on his back.

“I had always done what was best for Rich,” Jim whispers, such a contrast to his previously insurmountable volume, “and now I’ll do what’s best for me.”

Sebastian has an idea of what Jim is going to do next.

And there, in a filthy lavatory and with a furious deceased teenager, is where Sebastian and Jim have their second kiss.


	9. Pit and Pendulum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i messed up their heights: in actuality, jim is slightly shorter than average, seb is slightly taller.

The door flies open.

“Sebastian? Jim?” Someone calls, her voice anxious.

It all shuts down – the illusions, the pain, the Jim.

Jim. He’s gone.

 _That motherfucker,_ Sebastian thinks. _Twice? Fucking TWICE?_

“Aubrey, I’m here,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “I’m okay.” She rushes over, not hesitating to cross the threshold.

“I heard shouting, it sounded like Jim, so I – “

“I understand.” He stands, strength from before returning, and rests a hand on her shoulder.

“I knew it,” Aubrey sighs. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have been so nice to him.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You’re nice to everyone, it’s what you do.” He looks around. “And you really have a problem with gender signs.”

Aubrey is exploding with questions. She decides to hold them in.

Well, all except for one.

“Where’s Jim?”

“For his own sake, I hope he’s gone.”

+++

For the second time, Jim has fled. However, this time, it was involuntary.

He finds himself at a golf course, standing on an expanse of vibrant green grass, while a younger patron is lining up his shot.

“You were too close,” Kurt says, practicing his swing. His club swings backwards, forwards, backwards, like a pendulum. “You were going to kill him, we both know it.”

He swings.

Jim watches the arc of the ball, a pinprick of white against a wondrous blue sky; it’s rising, flying, and finally falling, as all great people do. And when it lands, it’s closer to where it has always supposed to be, cushioned by the carpet of lush grass.

“Damn, that was a nice shot,” Kurt says. Jim shoots him a condescending smile, not amused. Kurt turns to face him, and conjures up a golf cart.

“I’m sending you back, tying you to him,” Kurt says, climbing into the white automobile. “Try not to do anything stupid.”

“What?” Jim demands. “Fuck no –” Kurt’s already sped off, laughing. He snaps his fingers. The ground opens up, and Jim’s falling through a void, a sensation as familiar as falling asleep.

More familiar, at this point.

And when he lands, he crashes.

+++

They pay for their cousin’s gift, a stuffed mermaid doll with stringy red hair, and leave. On the ride home, the car stereo floods their ears with soundtracks from Disney movies, courtesy of Sebastian’s iPod, and Aubrey displays her impressive knowledge of all the words to “Poor Unfortunate Souls.”

The road is open, clear. Their visions are filled with images of droll little shops, their ears with the sounds of rushing air, and their nostrils with the bitter scent of freshly mowed grass.

After a particularly painful rendering of “He’s a Tramp,” Aubrey turns the music down with a sharp flick of her wrist and opens her mouth to do something other than sing – she speaks.

“I don’t want him around you.” Her eyes wander to the stretch of road, the dashes of yellow whizzing by. If she reaches, she may be able to grasp the leafy branches and shake hands with the trees by the side of the road.

“It’s not your decision,” Sebastian says. He gives the wheel a sharp jerk, mumbling an apology as his sister grabs frantically to keep the plastic bag from flying out the window.

Somewhere in the back seat, a can of Pepsi is rolling around, preparing itself for battle against the next Pepsi drinker to cross its path.

“But Seb, it affects me, I get an input.”

He twirls around a traffic circle, just barely making his turn. He speeds down the road, the bright traffic cones blurring into a continuous stream of orange.

“I’m older, and Jim is my – “Sebastian slams on the brakes, just missing a black SUV pulling out of a gas station, and lays on the horn. “Mother fucker!”

“Jesus tap-dancing Christ, you have the absolute worst road rage.”

“Sorry, I know. And it’s my job to help.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m not one of those glass figurines that you collected until you were twelve. I don’t want you worrying about me. Besides, even if I do get burned, as you are so keen on believing, I know exactly where the ice packs are.” The shops are slowing, once a whole herd of them trickling into only a few stragglers, and Sebastian pulls in front of their building.

They climb the stairs, stopping in front of their door – painted a fire truck red, contrasting the others lining their hall like a maraschino cherry in a bowl of grapes.

He unlocks the door, turning first the key, then the knob.

“Aubrey, on this, I’m not going to budge.” He places a kiss on her forehead and pushes the door open.

“Neither am I,” a voice calls.

“Aw, shit,” Aubrey mumbles, physically having to strap her arms to keep herself from punching a wall.

It’s a very familiar voice, with a very familiar twinge, belonging to a very familiar dark haired boy.

Floating inches above a very familiar kitchen counter.

+++

A myriad of feelings rocket through Sebastian, as if someone’s stuck a lit Molotov in his stomach.

“Mother of shit,” he hears Aubrey breath, and fury dominates whatever the fuck else is happening in his head.

He slams the door behind him, rattling the tea cups his mother keeps on a shelf above the stove. He thunders over to the cupboards, for once not afraid of disturbing the neighbors he’s never spoken to, and he rummages through them.

“Salt isn’t going to work,” Jim says, his voice flatter than Louisiana. Sebastian freezes. The excitement, the mischief, the bullshit he usually hears when Jim opens his mouth is gone, replaced by a single monotone phrase.

He whirls around to face the (boy? spirit? deceased? Jim?), watching as he shifts to sit cross-legged.

“Then what will work, huh?” Sebastian demands, placing both hands on his hips. He watches Jim carefully, an accusing glint in his eye.

He doesn’t expect Jim to lower his head, to pick at his fingernails, or to let his hair fall in his face, obscuring both eyes like a deathly veil.

And he certainly doesn’t expect Jim’s morbid response.

“Nothing works. I’ve tried it all.”

Jim is no stranger to pain. He figures the first death wasn’t so bad, the second one should be even better. At this point, all he really wants anymore is to see Richard. But he can’t; not like this, not when he’s still a monster.

So, when Sebastian and Aubrey were busy singing Disney songs and arguing over who haunts whom, Jim was busy dying. He had sprinkled pinches of salt above his head, eventually giving up and pouring out the entire forsaken container. He has doused himself in holy water, enough for him to be considered officially baptized. He had fallen on his sword – or at least, a sharpened silver knife as a substitute. He had burnt sage, and all that had done was assault his nostrils.

Most of his research consisted of people trying to _convince_ the ghost to leave, but that did not pertain to his situation at all; he already wanted to high-tail it out of there.

_But if he had to haunt anybody, he’s glad it’s Sebastian._

The tension in Sebastian shifts, evacuating, but Aubrey is steadfast.

When you see a single boy reduce your brother to rubble, to destroy him without breaking his flesh, you don’t forgive. Easily. Ever.

And now that he’s made another special guest appearance, wedged himself back into their lives, what’s to stop him from doing it all over again, a grotesque encore to a disturbing final act?

She turns, exiting the kitchen and retreating to her bedroom, marking her arrival with the slam of a door.

Thinking better of leaving the two boys alone, she reopens the door and prepares to storm back into the kitchen.

Before she can take more than a single step, she’s frozen. She hears snippets of conversation drifting in from the kitchen, like a leaf blown in from an open window.

“– yeah, Marley’s alright.”

“Still after that science dame?”

She hears a chuckle, low and throaty, too deep for Jim’s high-pitched voice.

“Yeah. It’s kinda cute, actually. Marley’s just…he’s just Marley. So, do you get to see Rich or anything?”

“No, not yet. But I think I will, soon enough.”

“That’s great. Awfully cryptic, but great. Make sure you tell him all about the dashing blonde boy who saved your ass.”

“Hey, I saved yours, too.”

“Nah, man, be real. I think Aubrey did more damage than your tiny ass.”

“I’m only two inches shorter than you!” A moment later, Aubrey hears a small yelp recognizably from her brother. She can’t see into the kitchen from where she’s standing, but she can only assume Jim’s just thrown something. She closes her eyes, slowly backing into her room.

Destruction can wait one day more.

+++

She gives them an hour before emerging again. She’s already bustling around the kitchen, swiping a granola bar and plopping down in front of the boxy television set before Sebastian notices.

He gives her a shy smile, an aphonic thanks that she’s not sure she deserves, before returning his attention to Jim. She must have missed some particularly witty banter, because in the next moment Sebastian is laughing and throwing a dishrag at him.

The ratty towel hits his shoulder before folding down, bouncing off his jittering chest. Aubrey glances at them – Jim’s still floating about the counter, he hasn’t moved a centimeter.

She shakes her head, returning her attention to her episode of Top Gear U.K. She’s pretty sure that’s not how ghosts work – but then again, she has had zero experience with them.

The boys are quiet; the only thing that keeps Aubrey from thinking they’ve snuck out the window is the occasional clang of dishes and faint smell of gas from the burner as Sebastian prepares to sauté chicken.

By the time the credits are rolling, Sebastian is calling her in for dinner.

The first thing that occurs to Aubrey is that a miracle has been performed – the table is just as it’s always been. Sebastian is inhaling twice the amount of calories he’s supposed to, Aubrey’s pouring hot sauce in a giant circle around her plate, and Jim is refraining from his own food, choosing instead to sneak forkfuls off of Sebastian’s, just to piss him off.

The food fades quickly, and Aubrey creeps into her room once more.

She’s noticed how the two seem to inch towards each other, like twin planets caught in each other’s orbits. Sebastian takes small steps closer to the edge of the sink, while Jim darts around the room, always returning that much closer.

She withholds comment.

She can see with crystal clarity that the entirety of her brother’s happiness seems to depend on a single person. Aubrey is perturbed.

Especially since that one person is Jim; cracked, insane, deranged Jim.

She is filled with pure trepidation, burning white hot like an ironsmith’s sword.

But for now, she lets them be.

She had forgotten what it’s like.

+++

In the kitchen, Jim’s attention keeps flickering to the clock with the sketchy cat eyes hanging on the wall.

He’s watching Sebastian do the dishes just a little too intently, sitting a little too close, but neither seems to notice.

“I should go,” he says as the clock gives eight meows.

“Is it really that easy to get rid of you?” Sebastian asks, laughing.

“Yes. If I stay any longer, my coach turns back into a pumpkin.”

Sebastian towels off the final dish before shoving Jim’s head out of the way, opening a cabinet and sticking it inside.

He turns to face Jim.

“Stay,” he commands, lacing his voice with a peculiar combination of demand and jocund. “I don’t care if your fine clothes turn to rags.” He looks down, catching sight of Jim’s feet clad only in a pair of gold-toed socks. He crouches, grabbing one of the dangling feet and rubbing his finger down the arch, holding tight against the spasms.

Jim lets out a particularly manly squeal before kicking Sebastian in the face.

“Ow! Sure, just add another bruise to the collection,” he says, standing back up and rubbing his eye.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to look at the clock. Ten minutes has passed.

“Seb, what are you – “Jim asks, sensing the anticipation. His question is answered when the door bursts open, and a tall, lean figure strides in.

“Honey, I’m home,” she calls, setting her lime-green bag on a hook hanging next to the door. She sheds her tan trench coat next to it.

“In here, mom,” Sebastian calls, biting his lip at the deathly glare Jim gives him.

Mrs. Moran enters the room, striding over to wrap her arms around her son.

Her eyes drift to the counter, and Jim almost drops the plate he’s spinning around his fingertip.

“Sebastian,” she says, giving Jim a glowing white smile, “you didn’t tell me we were having company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going away again, so sorry if the next chapter's posted late!! i already have it typed, i just need to edit it a few times. anyone interested in betaing?


	10. No hair gel in the afterlife

“Sorry,” Sebastian mumbles, staring at his mother, “It was kinda sudden.” She smiles, and the rigid lines of Sebastian’s shoulders go slack.

“It’s fine, babe.” She turns to Jim, who’s sitting flat on the counter. “I’m Sebastian’s mom; you can call me Mrs. Moran or just Scarlette.”

“Okay, Mrs. M.” He chokes out the words, careful to go with an abridged version of the former name. He doesn’t trust himself with the latter.

Mrs. Moran is stunning; Jim has never seen her husband, but it seems as though her children get their most magnificent traits from her. However, she also looks as though she could be Jim’s own mother; they’re both painfully wiry, and she radiates a mischievous sort of energy that matches his. However, the first think Jim notices is her ears – her hair is curly and dark, stopping just above her shoulder, and the way it falls allows him to glimpse two milky white ears, sharpening to a slight point.

Jim decides that it augments her beauty, making her look more like a woodland elf than a fading mother.

Her skin adds to this image, as pale as her ears. If Jim studies her long enough, he’s able to see the delicate veins running underneath, crisscrossing in a labyrinth of pulsation.

But her skin is far from flawless. One half of her face looks as though it’s etches out of cracked cement, a cobweb of scars originating from high up on her left cheekbone and blossoming throughout her face.

She doesn’t show an inkling self-consciousness. Jim decides he admires her.

He smiles, melting his features into a soft mask.

He doesn’t have to conjure the warmth; it flows freely.

“I’m Jim.”

“Well, Jim,” she says, her voice excitedly jumping up and down the octave, “has Sebastian made dinner yet?” She glances around the kitchen. “I don’t see any dirty dishes.”

“Yes, he did, and then we washed them,” Jim pipes. He receives a sharp elbow in his ribcage. “Well, Sebastian did them, I watched.” She laughs, a deep throaty sound vibrating pleasantly in Jim’s ears. He feels Sebastian stiffen beside him.

“You alright, mom?” he asks. She lets a puff of air escape her lips, and leans on the stove top.

“Yeah, it’s just that someone down the hall had a heart attack, and he didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry. Was he one of your friends?” Jim asks. Mrs. Moran shakes her head.

“No, but I was the first one to get to him, and there was just nothing I could do to help.” Sebastian wraps his arms around the woman, resting his cheek on her forehead.

This is how Jim realizes that he and Mrs. Moran are approximately the same height, too.

“What was his name?” Jim inquires.

“Roger Harville. I never spoke to him.”

“Alright,” she says after a few moments, pulling away, “I’m fine. Where’s Aubrey? I want to say hello before she submerges herself in her book and forgets I exist.” Sebastian nods towards the girl’s bedroom door, stepping back to release her.

Jim watches as she crosses the room, then crouches to pick up a piece of construction paper cut into the shape of a British telephone box. She sticks it back onto Aubrey’s door with a smack of her palm.

The door opens, and she drags it shut behind her.

In a heartbeat, Sebastian’s on top of him.

“The fuck, Jim?” he snarls, keeping his voice to a whisper. He’s standing in the “v” created by Jim’s legs, bracing his arms on the space of the counter in between and crowding into Jim’s personal space.

“I don’t control it, Moran,” Jim hisses, practically in Sebastian’s ear.

“Then what does?”

“It’s you, ya prick.”

Sebastian’s jaw almost reaches the floor.

Sebastian furrows his brow. “Please, enlighten me about how this whole…ghost-y business works.”

“I have no sodding clue, either.” Sebastian notices it’s a bit weird to hear the word in Jim’s makeshift American accent. “But from what Cobain’s told me – “

“Cobain? _Kurt_ Cobain?”

“Yes, that Cobain. From what he’s let me in on, I gather that your attention, your presence, is what allows me to be real, so to speak. That’s why I can’t leave you alone; it’s not my choice.”

Sebastian is silent.

“Man,” he chuckles, “Aubrey is going to be _pissed._ ” Without the blinding fury, Sebastian realizes he is standing much closer to Jim than social etiquette allows, and he should probably take a step back.

Instead, he doesn’t. “But why _me?_ What makes me so important?”

Why not Jim’s dad? His mom? His apartment? His cat? Sebastian knows he had one, he’d seen the dark hairs clinging to his button-downs, and he’d picked up it when the boy would excuse himself during his visits and return reeking of tuna and kitty litter.

“Because you are important,” Jim says, his voice striking but low. “You are the most important person in my rotten, cruddy, shit-hole of a life. Were, anyways. And I…I erred. I have to pay. This isn’t your punishment, it’s mine.” His gaze doesn’t rise from the floor, and Sebastian is struck.

He hasn’t lost the ability to distinguish Jim, the real Jim, from the manipulative persona he abuses. And right now, Jim’s as real as the vomit-green bag hanging from the hook by the door, as the leftover chicken cutlets cooling in the fridge, as the pit of tar in Sebastian’s stomach, burning hot and writhing around.

There is a light, a decorative fixture with a translucent cone surrounding the naked bulb, hanging just above Jim’s head. Like a halo, it illuminates his features and casts his eyes in a harsh shadow.

Sebastian knows that Jim’s not _really_ real; his body is dumped in some unmarked grave in Michigan, no claim made, no funeral held, probably in the same cable-knit sweater stained with his own blood.

At that moment, he resembles an angel with dead eyes.

Eyes that had aged prematurely, weighed down by loss and the toll of the universe. Eyes that had only glimpsed warmth, love, happiness, instead of swimming in it. Eyes that would never have the chance.

But here Sebastian has been graced with a do-over, a get-out-of-jail-free card, a moment of overtime. The clock is ticking. He has to make it count.

So, for the second time, Sebastian takes the most breathtakingly ludicrous, incongruous, moronic course that anyone in his shoes could manage.  

He lunges forward, and presses their lips together.

His hands grope onto Jim’s face, searching for something to hold onto, and he’s not quite sure what to do because god, he’s never kissed anyone like Jim before. All his past endeavors had been groping flirtatious girls that he was afraid of scaring away. With Jim, he had _tried_ scaring him away – it had failed.

Small hands wrap around his waist, finding their way up his t-shirt and scratching along his back. Sebastian is slightly rattled by the warmth of the dead boy’s hands.

Jim’s mouth is just as warm – moist, too, and Sebastian has no problem sinking his teeth into Jim’s lower lip.

Jim pulls him closer, until Sebastian can empathize with the jelly in his donuts, until Jim can feel Sebastian’s heart racing in place of his own.

Their first kiss had been a spark, cut prematurely; this one is conflagration, as blazing as it is destructive.

Sebastian’s hands seem to migrate to the back of Jim’s head on their own accord, as if they suspect a discrepancy before Sebastian’s mind catches on. Or perhaps they just want to mess up Jim’s usually impeccable hair.

This time, Sebastian sharply pulls away.

His fingers, in their quest to muss up Jim’s hair, had stumbled upon a tiny hole in the back of Jim’s head, barely large enough to house a worm.

Or a slug.

Words swim before his eyes, ricocheting through his skull like an insidious echo.

_Headshot._

“The bullet…” he mumbles, raising his confounded gaze from Jim’s eyes to his forehead. Jim untangles a hand from Sebastian’s back, sheltering his forehead and pushing away his droopy bangs.

 _No hair gel in the afterlife,_ Sebastian thinks as he notices Jim’s new shaggy look.

A matching bullet hole lies on Jim’s forehead, and Sebastian wonders which was the entrance wound.

Sebastian closes his eyes, and for a petrifying moment, Jim is sure that it’s in disgust.

In truth, Sebastian is furious. Two little holes are all it took to take Jim away from him, two holes barely large enough to fit a number-two pencil.

But in a sick, twisted way, they’re also what brought Jim back.

Sebastian is reminded of tiny funholes, pulsating with a strange kind of energy, simultaneously ruling over life and death.

They’re perfect for Jim.

Sebastian stands on his tiptoes, pressing a kiss to the wound. He feels Jim relax in his grip. A heartbeat later, Jim’s whole body goes completely rigid.

“Sebastian, I didn’t realize Jim was your boyfriend,” a voice calls from behind him.

Sebastian jumps out of his skin, leaping a step back, and he turns to smile at his mother.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “It was kinda sudden.”

His mother breaks out into a grin, illuminating her wrecked face.

“Finally,” she says. She reaches over (to pat him on the back, Jim realizes), and leaves the room.

Sebastian watches her go, and Jim watches Sebastian.

He can’t help but muse in what other ways the woman and her son are alike.


	11. Overtime

Soon after, Sebastian says goodnight and escorts Jim home, fending off any muggers that stand in their way. As expected, there are few.

And by walking Jim home, Sebastian means shutting his front door, pleading for Jim to turn transparent so his mother won’t have a heart attack, making out for a few minutes in the hallway, and then turning around and walking back into his kitchen.

He comes home, blissfully unaware of Jim’s current location, to find his mother chewing on the end of a dark blue pen, completing the daily word jumble at the kitchen counter.

“I assume I’ll have to give him the ‘you break his head, I’ll break your skull,” speech?” she asks, keeping her eyes fixed on the page.

Sebastian chuckles, reminiscing of when he himself had wanted to break Jim’s skull.

Jim had beaten him to it.

“No, Aubrey’s got it covered.” He pecks her on her forehead, offers a chaste “goodnight,” and retires.

It’s close to 1 a.m., and Sebastian breathes a sight of relief as he realizes he doesn’t have school in the morning. After completing a laundry list  falling nothing short of brushing his teeth, washing his face, pissing like a racehorse, and hopping on one foot, he falls into bed.

His breathing has steadied, his eyelids have stopped twitching and his idle wonderings have just begun to transform into irrational dreams when he hears a faint rustling sound.

“Don’t you need sleep or, or _something_? To recharge?” Sebastian groans, turning on his side and smashing a pillow into his ear. He’s seen enough chic-flics to know where this is going, and considering the number of mini-heart attacks he’s already had in the past twenty-four hours, he knows with a peculiar certainty that he is too beat for this shit.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebby; I didn’t sleep before, and I certainly don’t need to now.” The pillow sails through the air, in the direction of the bodiless voice.

“So what did you used to do at home?”

“I planned my criminal empire,” Jim replies, sarcasm dripping from his tongue like spaghetti sauce. “And I used to knit.”

Another groan.

He sighs, throwing open his covers.

For a moment, Jim is sure he’s going to march over and try to beat the crap out of his ghostly self.

“Get your skinny ass over here,” Sebastian instructs, his voice weighted with drowsiness.

Jim floats over, keeping his feet several inches above the ground. Facing Sebastian, he lays down on the bed, immediately feeling arms wrap around him, caging him in.

“Ooh,” Jim clucks, “an invitation to your – “

“Shut the fuck up and let me sleep.”

After a moment of entangling legs and possessively throwing out arms, Jim’s head ends up buried somewhere under Sebastian’s chin, reveling in the slight scratch of stubble.

It had been a while since Jim had last shared a bed. With someone other than Rich, that is. In fact, Jim can no longer recall the last time he _hadn’t_ shared a bed with his brother.

Before the accident, that is.

The first night after, Jim had slept on the floor. He hadn’t yet been able to face the choice of _not_ having to choose which side to sleep on. Ever since then, Jim had fallen asleep with an empty, hollowed out longing boring through his stomach.

For the first time in a long while, Jim has to choose a side of the bed. _(Left side of the bed for a left-handed spirit.)_

It’s a lovely  feeling, a sort of nighttime ritual of his own. For a moment, just for a blip of time, Jim feels like he’s home. Not home in Ireland, not home snuggled up next to Richard. A new kind of home.

Sebastian falls asleep with the feeling of Jim’s smile pressed against his throat.

 

oOo

Sebastian wakes.

His eyes open, but no light enters. He rolls over, suddenly consumed by an eternal longing.

_Something’s missing._

By the time he realizes exactly what ( _who_ ) it is, Jim’s already wriggling back into his arms, interweaving their legs.

“Where were you?” Sebastian mumbles, his voice scratchy and rough with disuse. Jim freezes.

“As alluring as you are, watching you sleep for eight hours isn’t quite as entertaining as you’d think,” Jim purrs. The words vibrate up and down Sebastian’s throat, like tiny love bites.

“But, isn’t this for you?” Sebastian asks, raising his head.

Jim frowns. “I thought this was for you.”

A beat passes as the room fills with an awkward tension.

“You don’t have to – “

“I can leave if – “

They begin to untangle their limbs, puzzling in the darkness of what belongs to whom.

In the darkness, Sebastian hears the disappointing sound of Jim drawing farther away instead of closer to him.

_What the heart thinks, the tongue speaks._

“Wait,” Sebastian commands. “Stay. This is me, asking.” They both halt. “Please?”

“Okay,” Jim agrees. “But hog the covers, and you will be awakened to the smell of burning flesh. _Your_ burning flesh.”

And so Sebastian falls back asleep, and Jim continues to do whatever the hell Jim was doing.

Sebastian has been playing  sports for over a decade. He’s been a soccer striker, a star quarterback, and center in lacrosse. When the clock is ticking, he’s used to the weight of the team resting on his shoulders, their expectations crushing him.

He thrives on making that split-second goal, the final tackle, the twenty-yard dash across the field, each accomplishment sending a rush of adrenaline shooting through his veins.

In that moment, Sebastian decides that this is by far the best overtime he’s ever had.

 

oOo

Forensics is the only class Sebastian shares with the infamous Sherlock Holmes. Although her internal monologue is often loquacious and verbalized, he doubts they’ve spoken two words to each other throughout the entire year.

He’s noticed that the majority of her words are dedicated towards correcting the teacher, pointing out her mistakes and attempting to reduce the thirty-year-old mother of triplets to a quavering puddle of tears.

He’s also noticed how Jim stares at her.

Jim had originally taken oceanography. Post-mortem, he’s made a habit of following Sebastian around to all his classes, almost as though he’s afraid of being separated. Teachers and students alike have failed to notice – Jim claims this is because of their blatant stupidity and obliviousness, but Sebastian suspects Jim uses his ghost-y powers for more than just passing through locked doors and annoying the shit out of him.

Jim gazes at her, Sebastian has noticed, as if he has all the diseases a person can possibly contract and she is a treasure chest, promising a panacea to anyone bold enough to unlock her. It puts Sebastian on edge, making him dislike the already unpopular girl that much more. It’s not jealousy, he swears.

During one particularly garrulous lecture, the intercom buzzes, drawing twenty-sever pairs of eyes to the stereo above the chalkboard.

“Please send Ms. Sherlock Holmes to the main office.”

 Sebastian sometimes wonders about the body to which phantom voice belongs– she has a slight accent, not strong enough for Sebastian to place. He imagines her to be a stump of a woman, with outrageously curly hair and tortoise-shell glasses balanced on her upturned nose.

He brought this up with Jim once, and Jim admitted that he’s always imagined her to be tall and freakishly thin, with raven-hair combed through with gray and eyes of a vulture, ferociously sharp bones jutting out from under a black pencil skirt and a beaklike nose on her sagging face.

Even though he didn’t know it was a competition, Sebastian admits Jim won that round.

Ignoring the cheers and catcalls of her peers, Sherlock scrapes the hair across the floor, grabs Joan Watson by the arm, and drags her out of the room.

With no distraction, Jim spends the rest of the class practicing different stripteases while sitting on Sebastian’s desk.

Never before has Sebastian wished so intently for Sherlock Holmes to both quickly intrude upon his life, and for her to stay out of it.

 

oOo

In high school, gossips spreads almost as fast as gonorrhea.

“Did you hear?” Marley asks, leaning over his desk during math and throwing a look towards the door. There’s still three minutes before class is to start, and he’s chewing on the end of his pencil.

Sebastian can tell it’s important – if it weren’t, Marley would be comparing their answers to last night’s homework instead of spreading sketchy gossip.

“No,” states Sebastian, digging through his backpack for a bright green binder. “And I don’t care.” He misses Marley’s eye-roll.

“It’s about Sherlock,” Marley continues, ignoring Sebastian’s defiance . “She’s been asked by the cops to help out on a case.” Sebastian drops his calculator. Behind Marley, he sees Jim’s head pop out of the cabinet he’s been rifling through.

“Wait, what? Case?” Marley bobs his head.

“Yeah. There have been numerous accounts of heart attack victims lately, all under the age of 35 and within people who have had no previous conditions, which is very unusual. Typically, heart attacks occur in men over the age of forty-five, and women over the age of fifty, and obviously the victims haven’t reached this stage yet – “

“Marley, cut to the chase.” Sebastian reaches over, grabbing the pencil that’s been in his mouth and dropping in on the ground. Marley scowls at him, grabbing a replacement from the orange case lying on his desk, and continues.

“Anyways, police suspect foul play.” Sebastian realizes – Marley talks to Joan on a regular basis, his dad works on the force, and he takes AP pathology classes; of course he knows what’s up.

Often overlooked because of his timidity, Marley is a lot smarter than people give him credit for.

“What,” Sebastian asks, blinking rapidly, “the fuck? She’s seventeen. Sure, she hangs around in that cramped lab all day, but still. What makes them think she’s going to do any better than trained professionals?”

Marley shrugs. “Everyone knows that she’s abnormal. Remember when Angelo, that senior, paid her to prove that he wasn’t at that party? He would’ve been arrested for breaking and entering if she hadn’t found that Pepsi-can proving he was across town that night.”

“They must really be out of their depth,” Sebastian mutters. Their conversation is cut short by the shrill ringing of the bell, causing Marley to jump out of his skin. Their teacher immediately starts writing on the board, and both boys struggle to take down notes.

Jim is eerily quiet during class, and Sebastian would normally be thankful for the lack of distractions.

But for the time being, he has too much on his mind.

The numbers on the board are starting to look like Egyptian hieroglyphics.

oOo

“What time is it?” Joan asks, her jaw dropping open to leak out a yawn. She stretches her arms, scratching at the thin fabric of her t-shirt and leans onto Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock snakes an arm around her.

“11:47 p.m.,” Sherlock notes, her eyes never leaving the thick textbook draped across her knees. “You should go to bed. If you don’t, you’ll be groggy in the morning, irritable and unable to function at maximum capacity for the rest of the day. I can’t have that.” Joan giggles, catching onto the double meaning hidden inside Sherlock’s words. Any other person, any _normal_ person, would have taken it as an insult and would probably leave the room in a huff. Instead, she laces her fingers through the long ones dangling by her knee.

“Yes, because you can’t even begin to deal with highly irritable,” she jokes, a grin tugging at her lips. She glances at the book covering Sherlock’s nightgown – she can make out an extraneously detailed diagram of a human heart, sliced in half, and “ANATOMY” printed in menacing block letters across the top of the page.

She jumps as the book is slammed shut.

“I’m going to bed,” Sherlock remarks. She shoots up, on her feet in a heartbeat, striding towards a closed door across the room.

Joan gives a mumble of irritation as her head smacks into the wooden frame of the couch behind her. “Coulda warned a chick.”

She follows all the same.

 

oOo

_Arid sand, crunching under her toes, crawling like fire ants up and down her limbs. Dry winds, cutting across her face, slicing her to ribbons like a razor blade. The burning sun, setting fire to her skin, robbing her blood of oxygen._

_A piercing pain in her left shoulder, like a fireball rippling through the cool pond of her skin._

_This is it,_ she thinks, _I am going to die._

Joan seizures awake, flailing around in an ice-cold bed.

“Sherlock?” she calls, begging really. She’s beside her in a moment. Sherlock wraps her long arms around her, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and tucking one foot beneath her.

Elevated voice, flickering eyelids, just pulled out of REM. Obvious panic.

“Night scare?” Sherlock asks, curling her spider-like fingers in thick blonde hair.

“No,” Joan lies. She pulls Sherlock back down, resting her head on the dark silky fabric covering her chest.

 _This isn’t right,_ Joan thinks. _Sherlock’s using that tone again, she’s talking to me as if I’m a frightened rabbit. The last time she did this was when -_

“Dreams are evolutionary epiphenomena and have no adaptive function,” Sherlock drones, her rich voice luring Joan away from her train of thought and back into the warm recesses of slumber. “They are a product of dissociated imagination, and provide a mechanism for mind-body interaction. Nightmares can have physical causes such as sleeping in an uncomfortable or awkward position, having a fever, or psychological causes such as stress, anxiety and ingestion of opioid drugs used in pain killers such as oxycodone and hydrocodone. Eating before going to sleep, which triggers an increase in the body's metabolism and brain activity, is a potential stimulus – “

“Thanks.”

Joan pushes one of her stubby legs between Sherlock’s, smiling into her chest.

She falls asleep to the regular beating of the steadiest heart she knows.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shh, it'll all make sense at the end. hopefully.


	12. Pig's Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, I actually had a nice plot planned out, but I've realized that I've waited a bit too long to implant it, so I think I'm just going to ditch it and wrap things up. Also, this story doesn't seem to be generating a lot of interest, and I'd rather tie it off here than run it into the ground. Thanks to all my wonderful readers! Honestly, you could probably change my mind if you really wanted to by commenting or messaging me ;)

She was tall, gawky, wore denim skirts and pumps mostly, and had the personality of a chipmunk. Suiting, seeing as how her favorite cartoon characters were Chip and Dale. Though boys did not whisper about how smoking hot she was over slimy cafeteria food, Aubrey always thought her to be quite beautiful.

And she was young. Oh, so very young.

At twenty-six, she had only been teaching for two years; she had spent those tears teaching Spanish to elementary school students, before taking a year off to help rebuild destroyed homes in South America with her equally youthful husband. She had told Aubrey’s class where, specifically, but Aubrey had seen _Star Trek_ the day before, and she was still finding it difficult to concentrate on the real world.

She had been Sebastian’s teacher, too. He used to love her class, even though he sat three seats away from Carl Powers. He remembers how Carl had always acted like a grade-A prick by constantly interrupting her lessons with his own demented dialogue.

“ _Can the quizzes be with a partner?”_

_“Can we watch a movie?”_

_“Can I leave class early to get a head start on baseball practice?”_

However, the behavior that made Sebastian want to tear out his hair and leave a cracked crater in the blackboard was typically met with good humor from his teacher – she even went so far as to acquiesce to Carl using the last ten minutes of class for a game of 7-Up.

The class was always delighted to hear stories about her husband, the drama of how they met in college and how he proposed right in front of his ex-girlfriend.

He used to call her during class. At times like these, Sebastian felt as though he could see straight into her heart, where the love, burning low and hot, was palpably plastered across her face, like – no words could describe it. She looked as though she someone had told her a secret, whispered it so the words tickled her ear, the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Anyone could tell how much she loved him.

At the funeral, amongst the crowd of gray and black mourners of multifarious ages, though he’s never seen a picture of the man, Sebastian can pick out the widower.

He’s easy to spot – he’s the man who’s bared his heart; an ugly mess of an organ, beyond broken, torn apart and crushed to a pulp, stomped on and chewed to bits, with searing welts where it’s tried to mend itself but never quite succeeded, leaving its owner a quavering mess.

Sebastian supposes they just shared that sort of life – one without the other would simply collapse.

Sebastian supposes they were lucky enough to share that sort of life.

At twenty-six, she had died of a heart attack.

It’s only a matter of time before he collapses.

“That’s what I mean, Sebby,” Jim whispers, noticing the solemnity in Sebastian’s gaze, “that’s why I left.”

Sebastian does not want to have this conversation at his Spanish teacher’s funeral, surrounded by the field of black lotuses weeping for her.

_Is that what you’ve convinced yourself?_ Sebastian silently argues. _Caring of any sort is prohibited; because of the slight chance it might possibly leave you open to pain? You didn’t even stick around long enough to see the_ real _pain. But maybe that wasn’t even real pain. Maybe it was just the pain of an infatuated teenager, who thought he’d –_

Aubrey rests her head on his shoulder, stirring his thoughts. He’s down to just his dress shirt, having given her his jacket wear over her modest black dress, as many other men had during the frosty ceremony.

Sebastian inches his hand over, lacing his own gnarled fingers through Jim’s own slim ones.

He can’t help but take note of how, despite the chill of the evening, warmth blossoms though his whole arm and snakes its way into his belly as a pale finger gently rubs circles along his own.

oOo

Thunderous gunshots, a tornado of bullets.

Commands, shredding eardrums, dictated in a foreign tongue.

Shouts of, “COVER ME!” and “BEHIND YOU!”

The slamming of the door.

“SEBASTIAN! WHERE THE BRACK-A-BRICKS IS JIM?” Aubrey manages to ascend all fourteen stairs to Sebastian’s bedroom in three leaps.

Sebastian pauses the game, and Jim peaks his head out from behind the circular chair eating him alive.

“You called?” he asks.

“Come on, there’s something that you need to see.” She grabs her brother’s wrist, racing back down the stair, towing him like a lifeless puppy in her wake.

“’Brey, what is it?” he calls, trying to follow her without losing a limb. She turns a corner, leading them to the kitchen counter, stopping in front of the glowing screen of her laptop.

“There.”

Sebastian takes one look at it, turns around, and walks away.

Jim frowns.

“How’d you find this?”

“I was on BBC News, and – “

“Wait,” Sebastian interrupts, returning, “Since when do you read the news?”

“Ever since marriage equality became important in this household. I’ve been keeping up; England just passed a bill. But that’s not what I was referring to.” She points a finger at the screen. “A few pages in, I found this.”

And article headline graces the front page.

“Heroine-dealing parents revealed under mysterious circumstances.”

There, next to the block letters that looked as though they had been printed by an actual typewriter, is a picture.

The boy is young, looking as though his puppy had just been shot moments before the picture was taken.

It looked exactly like a younger version of Jim.

“Guys,” Jim says, a smile crossing his face, “that’s my brother, Rich.”

oOo

“Special delivery,” Marley says. He opens the door, and rolls in a sheet-covered gurney.

Aubrey turns away from the plant she was watering, grabbing her clipboard.

She looks at her clipboard and gasps.

“You got me a headshot vic?” She leans over the sheet and wraps her arms around Marley. “You _know_ they’re my favorite.” He words are muffled by his lab-coat.

“Yeah, well,” he says, returning the embrace, “I miss him, too.”

Whenever she inspects a new body, peels back the sheets, like she’s opening a present, and sees the tiny, bullet wound, her heart beats just a little faster, her breath catches in her chest, and a grin stretches across her face.

Because she never knows who was on the other end, who pulled the trigger.

“That lab coat looks great on you, by the way,” Marley says, leaving the room. She sends him a smile, one last tacit thank-you, before getting to work.

She pulls back the sheet, and bends to pick up her scalpel.

When she gets a look at the face, she almost drops it.

She sees glossy-doe eyes staring up at her, almost but not quite familiar.

The body was older than she remembered; but, then again, she had only caught a glimpse of a grainy photo on a computer screen, and originally thought it to be Jim.

There were subtle differences; a softer jawline, smaller ears, a sharper nose.

She scribbles _Richard Brook_ onto her form, before tearing it up and throwing it away.

“Sebastian may have obliterated your brain,” she says delicately and she presses the cool blade to flesh, “but I will have your heart.”

oOo

_“Wow, what an interesting specimen! What animal is it from?”_

_He taps on the glass, running his hand along the smooth wood of the mantel while he’s at it._

_“Why, thank you. It’s a pig’s heart; I had to order it special.”_

  * oOo



Aubrey raises an eyebrow, returning her attention to the laptop.

Jim’s attention follows, and he sees the Cheshire cat; a grin, detached from _everything_ , appears near her left shoulder. Jim watches as the smile is attached to a face. The face grows hair, a neck, a torso – more and more limbs appear, until it’s Rich, bracing one hand along the edge of the computer, reaching into the monitor with the other.

Jim bites down the urge, burning hot in his stomach and making his skin crawl, to call out to his brother.

While Sebastian and Aubrey focus on the illumination of the screen, their faces bathed in an unearthly light, only Jim sees what lies beyond.

Rich gives him a wink, blowing his brother a kiss, before snatching his arm out and disappearing.

Jim’s heart plummets, and he suddenly feels the urge to vomit the lunch that he didn’t eat.

“Dagnabbit,” Aubrey says, the syllables punctuated by the click of her mouse pad, “the page is gone.” A few more clicks. “The rest of the website, all the other articles are fine. She pulls up an article about a train crash in Spain. “The article isn’t even listed anymore.”

Jim circles the counter, placing himself in Richard’s absence.

“Don’t fret,” he says, resting first his elbows, followed by his chin, on the smooth granite. “I guarantee that I already know the entire story.”

Aubrey and Sebastian stare at him expectantly for a few moments.

“What,” Aubrey finally says, “do you want me to whip up some popcorn? Dim the lights? Get on with it!”

Jim turns up his nose, effectively making him look like a kitten who had been denied it’s catnip. “I don’t need your sass.”

He begins.

“When Richard and I were little, back when we were living in Dublin, I had this friend, Owen. We were neighbors, had grown up together. He was like a second brother to Rich, and my best mate. But he was always a little off, a little shaky, a little scared. I just thought it was a part of his personality, that he was just a little shy. Then, one summer, when swimming in the creek behind our neighborhood, I saw the needle marks on his arm.” He pauses, remembering. _Battle scars, he had called them._

“So, what’d you do?” Sebastian prompts.

“Well, Rich wasn’t there, so I asked him if I could have some.” Two mouths gape at him. “Relax, I never did. He told me all about it, how his parents were injecting him with it, against his will. He said he hated it, it made him feel sick and dirty and _broken_. I had never met his parents, he had never allowed me to. I told him to get help, and the look he gave me. God, the look he gave me. It was like, like I had told him to take a breath before he goes for a dip, ya know? Anyways, he refuses to talk about it after that, and I don’t push it. But I shoulda. I was just too wrapped up in myself to give a hoot.

“But, a few weeks after he turned sixteen, he died. Wanna hear what they told us? They said he was tripping balls, and had confused the oven with a tanning booth. I didn’t believe them for a moment, but what could I do? I went to the funeral. I said goodbye to a closed casket, and I threw a shovel of dirt into the grave of the bravest boy I ever knew.”

Sunlight streams into the kitchen, with a green twinge from the curtains. Sebastian is burning with questions, but he decides it’s too early in the morning to pry answers out of his best friend.

He’s not used to Jim sharing personal information so easily; he usually guards it with ten-foot walls lined with snipers, the only entrance through a four-by-four window located seven feet off the ground crossed with barbed wire.

Sebastian had only attempted breaking-and-entering twice before; the first time had been to find out where Jim goes while Sebastian sleeps, the second for information about Jim’s father.

Both times had caused Jim to disappear for a week straight, causing both Sebastian and Aubrey to suffer severe symptoms of Jim-withdrawal.

Sebastian moves across the table.

“Sebby, what the hell are you doing?” Sebastian’s moves are slow, exaggerated, like he’s swimming through a pool of caramel; he’s lifting his arms, stepping closer, lowering his head.

“Come on, buddy, you know you need it.”

He wraps his arms around Jim, ignoring the boy’s protests.

“What is your problem? You’re like a bear. I can’t breath!”

“Since when do you need to breath? Don’t fight the love, my friend.”

“Come on, Jim,” Aubrey chimes in, cracking up from her view across the counter, “Just let it happen.” Jim is wriggling like crazy in Sebastian’s grasp.

“No, really, Sebby, this happened years ago, I really don’t – “

“Resistance is futile.”

“RELEASE ME, FEIND!”

So that’s how Aubrey Moran spent her Saturday; reading about marriage, learning about Jim’s past, watching him struggle like a fish caught in a net.

It was not the worst.

“Hey, you never explained why it was Richard.”

“Hmm? Oh, right. Maybe if you LET ME GO, I WOULD.” Sebastian drops him like a dirty dishrag.

Jim stops himself just before he reaches the floor, and he mimes brushing his shirt off.

“Well, Richard is in the same position as I. So, I assume he found out the truth of Owen’s untimely demise, and set the record straight. He used his ‘ghost-y powers,’ as you so love to call them, for good.”

Instead of annoying his boyfriend incessantly, tormenting friends of Aubrey, and playing Saturday-morning video games, Richard has chosen to reveal heroine-dealing, teenage-son-ruining murderers.

Jim can’t help but feel a teensy-weensy bit jealous.

“Damn,” Sebastian says, interrupting Jim’s plunging train of thought, “I can see why you miss him so much.”

“Yeah,” Jim says, absently wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s waist. “Yeah, I do.”

 


	13. Tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I've reached the conclusion to tie things off early. This is a teaser chapter, that actually has some of the discarded plot in it. Thanks for reading!!

“I bet I can figure it out faster than her.”

“Figure what out, Jim?”

“Who’s causing the killings.” Jim floats over to the window, and Sebastian rolls his eyes as he watches the boy stare wistfully at the clouds.

“Maybe,” he sighs, “but you’re forgetting something.”

“I’ve already started examining evidence.” The voice is right next to Sebastian, tickling his ear. He drops his book and swats at it. He glances at Jim and laughs, noticing the bright red handprint still etched across his face.

“Jim, put some clothes on, we’re in public.” Aside from them, the waiting room to the dentist’s office is deprived of other visible humans. From where he was sitting, Sebastian can tell Jim’s wearing silk purple boxers with pickles on them.

He can tell because they are the only thing he’s wearing.

He’s suddenly finding it increasingly difficult to focus on his page.

“So, evidence?” Sebastian repeated, locking his eyes on Jim’s and swallowing the key.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Some officer left them sitting on his desk, imbecile. I found them when you were having a play-date with Marley the other day.” Sebastian grins, detecting a hint of jealousy; it made him look like an angry kitten.

“So, clothes?” He hears Jim snort. Jim’s sitting sideways in the chair next to Sebastian’s, with his legs thrown over one arm and his back leaning against Sebastian’s side. He reaches forwards to scratch his knobby, surprisingly hairless knee, and Sebastian can make out every last one of the thirty-three vertebrae of his back, all working in harmony to complete this motion.

Jim feels a cold hand placed on his side and grins smugly, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back towards the blonde.

“Jesus, Jim, the afterlife’s certainly been rough on you.”

Jim gives a cracked hum of agreement.

Has Jim always been like this? Sebastian feels like a prick for only just noticing, when he’s helpless to amend the situation.

“There’s a long list of suspected vics,” Jim says, placing his hand on top of Sebastian’s. Jim starts to rattle off a list of names. 

“Slow down, Mack Miller, let me grab a pencil.” He misses Jim’s questioning look as he fumbles to grab a pencil and piece of paper from the cluttered table next to his seat. Jim hisses as he removes his hand from his warm side.

Sebastian compensates for it by encircling Jim’s neck in the crook of his elbow, bringing both hands close enough to the paper to write.

“Alright, go.”

“Gary Dayton, Marina Bond – ”

“Marina Bond? _Ms. Bond?_ Her funeral was yesterday!”

“I’m quite aware. There’s one more, someone that your mother knew.” Sebastian feels a hurricane of excitement barrel its way across his belly.

“Roger Harville?” he asks.

“Roger Harville.”

Jim is giddy. With the help of Sebastian, Aubrey, and an unsuspecting Marley, it will be almost too easy to find the connection. Child’s play, really.

The door creaks open, and the middle-aged dentist walks out, accompanied by a smiling Aubrey.

Sebastian rises to meet them.

“Hello, Sebastian,” the dentist says, her smile as bright as the one pictured on her wall, “you’ve gotten tall.”

Sebastian laughs, glancing at a pouting Aubrey. She hates being short.

“Thanks, Dr. Brody, I get that a lot.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Jim move.

“So, about scheduling her next appointment?” the doctor asks, fondly patting Aubrey’s hair. She purrs like a cat.

Sebastian feels something, warm and wet, slide across the side of his face.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh-shit oh-shit oh-shit_

“It doesn’t have to be until December, you could – “

Whatever she’s saying, Sebastian is lost. There is a mostly-naked teenager, sliding his tongue across the side of Sebastian’s face.

“ – the receptionist is on vacation, but – “

He feels a nibble on his ear, a warm breath trickling down his neck.

He nods, trying to catch up on what she’s saying.

“ – so you can call us later?”

Sebastian blinks.

The nibbling’s turned into kisses, running up and down his neck.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, allowing a smile to cross his face.

Dr. Brody feels like she’s watching a kid who just told a dirty joke, not one who made a dentist appointment.

“Alright, I will see you when it’s your turn,” she says. She leaves the room.

He grabs Aubrey’s hand and practically drags her out of the office.

“Wait,” she calls, “I didn’t get my princess sticker!” she notices the death grip her brother has on her, the beads of sweat dripping across his brow. “You okay, bro?”

“No. It’s Jim.” He opens up the passenger seat and tosses her in. “Stay. Put.” He slams the door, circling around the building to where he’s sure he can’t be seen. Not by Aubrey, not by his dentist, not by _anybody_.

He grabs Jim, still attached to him, by the back of his neck and spins him around, pinning him against the wall so that they’re face to face.

“I get it, I get it, not in public,” Jim says, his face growing sour.

Sebastian places one hand on the wall above Jim, one hand on his waist, and kisses him ferociously. It takes Jim a moment to respond, and then they’re battling it out.

After a few moments, Sebastian movies down to Jim’s collarbone, wondering how he didn’t get his tongue torn off and wanting to leave a mark of his own.

He sucks at Jim’s skin, biting hard enough to leave teeth marks (let’s see the dentist x-ray _that_ ) and pictures his own bruise, rapidly darkening just above his collar.

Satisfied that Jim’s new bruise is worse, he pulls away.

“I don’t know,” he says, “I kinda liked it.”

 


End file.
